


Strawberry

by StormyInk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyInk/pseuds/StormyInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikasa is engaged to Eren & they go in search of a dance instructor to help them with their wedding dance and stumble upon Levi. Things fall apart, others come together, and the undeniable attraction between Mikasa and Levi finally gives way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strawberry Perfume

Hanji was wiping down a table when a young man walked in. He paused at the sight of the mostly trashed place. "Ah, I—I thought this was a dance studio."

"It is." Hanji cocked her head as she examined the boy. "Doesn't look like one now. Weekends it becomes just a regular old bar." Hanji reached over the counter and grabbed a green flyer. "I'm Hanji, by the way. You looking for dancing lessons?" She handed him the thick sheet then gestured for him to sit down at the bar with her.

The boy smiled a little nervously as he took it, removing his jacket and placing it on the stool beside them before he sat down. "I'm Eren. My fiancé and I wanted to take dancing lessons for our wedding."

Hanji smiled. "A little young to be getting married, aren't you?"

There was a flush of color on his cheeks. "We've known each other since we were kids. She's a good dancer and I'm…I just want to impress her. For once."

"Ah, I see. I'd say if she agreed to marry you you've obviously left quite an impression on her already, haven't you?" She laughed a little to herself. She scooted closer suddenly, murmuring conspiratorially. "You see the bartender over there?"

Eren looked towards the other end of the bar. "Ah…yes, I do."

"His name is Levi."

They watched Levi for several moments. He was scratching at a dried piece of chewed gum on the counter irritably. He'd removed his black vest hours ago and only had his crisp white button shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His dark hair kept falling over his furrowed brow, his jaw clenched as he scrubbed.

"He's the dance instructor." Hanji informed him. "I like dancing but I don't have an ounce of rhythm. Levi's the professional."

"Oh…" Eren observed him for a few moments. "Is he…nice?"

Before Hanji could reply a straggling man walked into the bar a little woozily. He surveyed the mostly empty room. "You guys…" The drunk man struggled with his words. "Closed already?"

Levi arched a brow. "We closed a few minutes ago. Kindly see yourself out."

The drunk man, as most drunken men, didn't like being told to leave. "You're a bartender, aren't you?" He clumsily sat himself atop a stool, directly across from Levi. "I want a drink.  _Serve_  me."

"Oh dear," Hanji murmured.

Levi remained eerily silent as he observed the man for several, heart pounding moments. Slowly, he placed down his damp hand towel and walked around the bar. He stood directly behind him, and the man turned to face him with squinted eyes. "You want a go at me, you fucking midg—?"

"Levi," Hanji interrupted. "Let me handle—"

Levi suddenly kicked the stool out from underneath him, hard enough to send the man sprawling onto the ground. His head hit the counter on his way down, and before the man could recover Levi delivered another swift kick to the man's gut.

The man curled in on himself, groaning none too quietly.

Levi reached down and grabbed the back of the man's jacket—then proceeded to deftly drag his body out. "Consider yourself lucky they're witnesses."

"Wait," The man pleaded helplessly. "I think—I feel like—"

"Shut up. Your breath is nauseating."

"No, I—" The man suddenly contorted, pushing onto his hands and knees. There was a horrible wet gurgling sound—and he wretched onto the floor miserably. He kept coughing and gagging, the pool of yellow vomit spreading across the floor and over his arms and fingers.

"You've got to be fucking joking." Levi's lips thinned in disgust as he stood over him. "Filthy…" He grabbed his collar, kicking the door open as he bodily threw the man out into the street. "Pig." Levi slammed the door shut.

 _Oh well._ "You may not think it at the moment but Levi  _is_  kind." Hanji murmured. She smiled reassuringly at Eren's look of disbelief and apprehension. "He's had a rough day. We had a very large scale event tonight and Levi isn't what you'd call a social butterfly."

Levi was scowling at the pool of bile on the ground.

"He won't…kick me, will he?"

Hanji giggled. "Only if you—"

"Oi," They both turned at Levi's call. His narrowed—and slightly frightening—gaze was on Eren. "We're closed.  _Out._ "

Eren wiped his damp palms on his shirt. "Well, you see, I didn't come for a drink. I came to ask—"

"I could care less." Levi bit out, grabbing a pair of rubber gloves. "Leave or I'll drag you out kicking and screaming."

Eren swallowed thickly. He turned to face Hanji. "Never mind. Thank you."

Hanji grabbed Eren's sleeve and shook her head, stopping his retreat. "He came to ask about the dancing lessons, Levi."

Levi stilled. He kept his gaze carefully averted as he pulled on the long, thick gloves. "I thought we'd all agreed that part of my job was over."

Hanji smiled. "I don't recall ever saying that." She faced Eren. "Swing by tomorrow. Around Seven, perhaps? Is that a good time?"

Eren blinked rapidly. "It doesn't look like he—I don't think that's a good idea. You see he seems rather violent and well Mika—"

"Be here tomorrow at seven." Levi grabbed a mop and bucket. " _Don't_  be late."

Hanji laughed, clapping Eren on his back. "There you go. Tomorrow at seven o'clock. Make sure you wear appropriate shoes."

* * *

Eren stepped onto the sidewalk and surveyed the mostly desolate street. He was nervous about the dancing lessons but he was sure Mikasa would appreciate the gesture—wasn't their anniversary coming up? After all, how many times had they sat against the wall while everyone else had danced because he was so horrible at it? He'd seen the longing in her dark eyes, the way her pale fingers had clutched at her skirt discreetly.

And he'd dragged her down with him as usual.

How many times had people wondered why she'd ever given him a chance? How many times had people asked what the hell she saw in him? She was beautiful and intelligent and skilled and constantly protecting him, helping him in whatever he struggled with—and it made him all too painfully aware of his averageness. Sometimes he wondered if she'd agreed to marry him because she actually  _loved_  him or simply because she was  _accustomed_ to him.

But he really didn't want to think about those things.

He stepped out into the cold air and over the drunken man curled up on the street. It was cold, he thought and remembered that he'd left his jacket on the stool—when the man's arm suddenly shot out and grabbed Eren's boot.

"Hey, let go—"

"Eren?"

Eren paused. He peered down—and inhaled sharply. "Hannes?"

Hannes grinned a little sloppily. "You think you can…help an old man back to his place? I think I lost my keys."

Eren cursed under his breath and bent to help Hannes up. He looked frighteningly malnourished, gaunt, as if he'd aged a lifetime. No wonder he hadn't recognized him. "How long are you going to keep drinking, Hannes?" He felt the anger fill his chest as he helped him back to his own car. "One of these days you're going to get killed—and no one is going to give a damn because you look like some random homeless man."

Hannes smiled at Eren affectionately, his words slurred. "Nothing wrong with a drink every now and then."

Eren shook his head and pushed Hannes into the backseat of his car. He slid into the driver's seat and clicked on his seat belt. "You need to stop this Hannes." He glared at him through the rear view mirror.

"I know." Hannes sprawled across the back seat, covering his face with his filthy hands. "Eren, I know…"

Eren sighed. "I was supposed to go over to Mikasa's apartment but…" He turned the car on. "You can stay over at my place for tonight. You could use a shower and some food. I'll stay with you. We can talk about fixing you up."

Hannes smiled weakly. "Thanks, Eren. You're always trying to take care of me…you're just like Carla."

Eren swallowed past the ache in his throat. "Yeah."

The rest of the car drive was silent.

* * *

Hanji finished drying the last glass, humming along to the soft music she'd put on while they'd cleaned. She watched the young boy help the elderly, inebriated man to his car through the small window. "He's a good kid, isn't he Levi?"

Levi peeled off his gloves with a grimace. "He can keep coming around if he's going to pick trash off our sidewalk."

Hanji laughed a little. "You ready to go? I'll close up."

Levi shook his head. "I can't get back in my car like this. I need to shower first. Give me the keys. I'll close up."

Hanji tossed Levi the keys. "Remember to shut off all the lights. You know how Erwin gets when a light is left on.  _The electricity bills_."

Levi nodded grimly. "Walk to your car. I'll watch you from here."

Hanji pulled on her coat. "How chivalrous of you." She teased. "Good night, Levi. Don't take a long shower or you'll get home nigh morning. Don't want anyone taking advantage of you."

Levi shooed her out the door. "The only people that take advantage of me are you and Erwin."

Hanji laughed as she walked into the parking lot. "That's true."

* * *

Mikasa sat on the edge of the bed in her scarlet dress, holding her scarf up over her mouth comfortingly as she murmured into her phone. "You haven't heard from him, then?"

"No." Sasha sounded apologetic. "He mentioned going to look for something after work but I didn't ask what since it looked as if he wanted it to be a surprise. Me and Connie were going to go after him but we went to go eat instead."

Mikasa pressed her lips together. "I'll try his cell phone again. Thank you, Sasha."

Before she could hang up Sasha spoke rapidly. "Mikasa—wait—you sound…" A pause. "You sound upset."

Mikasa shut her eyes, tightening her grip on her scarf. "I'm just worried. It's late and he isn't home yet…" She looked down at her pretty dress, her gold heels neatly strapped over her feet. She'd waited for him for  _hours_. She'd planned this night for  _weeks._

"Mikasa…did Eren…did he forget your anniversary?" Sasha was perceptive, even over the phone.

She spoke a little brokenly. "I…believe so."

Sasha sighed. "I'm sorry. Connie and I will go look for him."

"No." She cleared her throat. "Thank you, Sasha. I'm going to bed. Good night."

"Mikasa—"

She hung up.

She held her cell phone between her cold hands and watched the bright screen darken after several moments. She'd taken painfully careful measures for this night. She'd felt a little insecure in the tight, revealing red dress—but she'd seen Eren stare at it for a little too long on the mannequin. She almost always wore business suits or jeans and t shirts—and she'd wanted to look different tonight. She'd wanted him to  _look_  at her.

The same way she'd seen him look at Annie.

Her hands had shook as she'd applied her eyeliner, as she'd painted her nails the same scarlet color as her dress. She'd fiddled with the pink glass of her strawberry scented perfume—a scent that Eren hated, but a perfume she loved.

She was Mikasa Ackerman. She was intelligent, skilled and composed. She was a level headed woman who'd intimidated people much more powerful than her.

But in front of Eren she was insecure. She was unsure. She couldn't put on makeup because he'd frown at it, had to be wary of her words so he wouldn't take offense. She had to switch her strawberry perfume for a lavender one.

She'd often wondered if he'd really  _loved_ her or if he'd simply grown  _accustomed_  to her protectiveness. She'd often thought he'd more seen her as a bit of a bothersome nuisance than anything.

But then he'd asked her to marry him.

And that must have meant he really did love her.

Didn't it?

She quickly dialed Eren's cell phone and pressed it to her ear hopefully.

It rang once.

_I know he forgot our anniversary._

Twice. She grabbed her shimmery pink perfume bottle.

_Perhaps something came up to keep him preoccupied._

Three times. She pushed off the cap.

_What if something bad has happened to him and I'll I'm doing is sulking in a flimsy red dress?_

He answered the phone. "You can pick up your dratted jacket and cell phone tomorrow."

Mikasa frowned at the foreign voice. "Eren?"

A pause. "I'm assuming you're one of his friends. He left his jacket at our bar. He's scheduled to come tomorrow for his dancing lesson so don't bother picking it up now. We're closed."

_A bar? Dancing lesson?_

"Do you know where he happened to go?"

The man spoke crisply, irritably. "I do not keep tabs on every boy that walks into this bar. I'd have gone half mad by now. I'm in the middle of a shower and I had to step out to stop the phone's infernal ringing. I'll have Hanji call you in the morning since she was the one he was speaking too. She'll know more. Now if you'd kindly stop calling the stupid boys phone and let me shower in peace, it'd be greatly appreciated. Goodnight."

The phone clicked loudly.

Mikasa dropped her hand into her lap, feeling sick to her stomach.  _Hanji? He was at a bar? Dancing lessons?_

Mikasa inhaled slowly.

"... _she was the one he was speaking too."_

 _She._  Eren had gone to a bar. Eren had gone to a bar and had been speaking to another woman—on their anniversary. It was perhaps ridiculous for her to be so insecure when he'd asked her to marry him but she'd always felt something missing between them. They got along easily enough but sometimes the romance felt forced.

Sometimes she wondered why he never looked at her the way he had looked at  _her._

She wondered why Eren and Annie had ever broken up. She wondered if maybe she'd been the second option.

Shakily, she stood, pulling on her thin sweater. She didn't bother changing—needed to get outside and not think.

She didn't want to think at all.

But she did anyway.

She dialed another number.

Her voice was muffled with sleep. "Mikasa?"

"Ymir…" Mikasa inhaled slowly. "Do you remember the dancing lessons you took with Krista all those years ago? Do you remember the address?"

She could hear some shuffling and a sleepy Krista ask who was calling at this time. "It's Mikasa. Go back to sleep." Ymir informed her, attempting to muffle the phone uselessly. "Do you remember that library we all went to when we needed to study?"

Mikasa remembered. "Yes."

"It's right across the street."

Which meant it was about three blocks away. "I remember now. Thank you."

"Is something going on?" Ymir asked gruffly.

"No. But thank you and I'm sorry for calling so late. Good night."

Ymir yawned. "Alright. 'Night."

Mikasa ended the call and slipped her phone into the pocket of her sweater. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep.

She spritzed on her old perfume, inhaling the soft scent deeply. Older, happier memories flooded her, an aching wistfulness filling her.

She might as well go for a walk.

* * *

Levi rubbed the towel over his damp hair quickly. It was well into the early morning now—three a.m., he saw as he glanced at the clock in his office. As he dressed he could hear the music Hanji had left playing, wondered about the dancing lesson tomorrow.

How long had it been since he'd given anyone a lesson?

How long had it been since he'd danced at all?

He was just pulling on a dark gray t shirt when he heard someone fiddle with the radio, skipping several songs and then turning up the volume.

He felt his skin prickle in alarm, becoming dead silent as he grabbed the small pistol in his desk drawer. He'd forgotten to lock the door before he'd gotten into the shower. He wouldn't be surprised if some idiots had wandered in and drank a few bottles. It had happened on a few occasions.

He slinked down the hallway carefully, his boots light and silent as they moved across the floor.

He heard the clinking of a glass bottle.

He peered around the corner, holding the gun aloft—and paused when he saw the intruder.

It was a young woman in a stunning scarlet dress, her black hair shimmering as she spun across the floor. Since they'd pushed aside all the tables and chairs the floor was completely bare for her, the mirrors on the walls reflecting her graceful image multiple times.

He lowered the gun, clicking on the safety as he tucked it into the back of his jeans. It was a strange sight, seeing a beautiful woman in a lovely dress dance alone.

He wondered what the hell she was doing here at this time.

She paused suddenly as she caught her own gaze in the mirror, her pale fingers clutching at an ill-fitting scarf wrapped about her neck—and her expression looked empty and hollow.

Yes, she was lovely, Levi admitted—but she looked wretched. He'd seen that same look in his own eyes one too many times.

She looked away from her reflection as the music changed, her feet effortlessly carrying her across the floor as she continued dancing alone.

And it was strange—but the night had been a strange one—but he didn't like the thought of someone so young and so lovely feel that same desolation.

He was a man who'd been through unspeakable things. He was a man who'd had nearly everyone dear to him ripped away violently. He was irritable and reserved and a little foul mouthed, sometimes a little too angry. He'd danced a few times because he'd been effortlessly good at it and it was good money but it had always been an obligation.

How long had it been since Levi had danced for pleasure?

How long had it been since he'd held a woman in his arms and moved with her across the floor, synched with her movements, connected their bodies?

The strawberry colored dress fluttered as she twisted, exposing her pale thighs.

He forgot the questions as he moved towards her.

* * *

She hadn't been able to  _not_ think—had only thought more as she'd walked the mostly empty streets. She'd wondered about what he'd been thinking—knew she wasn't in his thoughts at all—and her brain had spun it's strings into knots and tangles until she'd found herself in front of the bar/dance studio.

It was empty, obviously closed—but the lights were on, and she'd been able to hear the faint sound of music playing from outside the door. She touched the handle and had found it unlocked.

Was Eren perhaps still here?

She stepped into the warm studio and out of the cold night, observing the large room silently.

It was mostly just a large room with a polished wooden floor and mirrors for walls, a small bar pressed against the wall opposite from her.

"Hello?" She called quietly.

Nothing. Her heels clicked quietly as she made her way across the floor. She reached into her pocket and dialed Eren's phone—and it went straight to his voicemail.

She swallowed and put her phone down on the bar, neatly folding her sweater and placing it on the glossy counter. She reached over the counter and grabbed a bottle—some kind of wine, she observed carelessly—and she tilted it against her lips, drinking the bittersweet liquid deeply.

It was strawberry—strawberry wine.

Like her perfume.

She put the bottle back down with a clack—then eyed her reflection dully. Her makeup was still perfectly intact. The curl in her hair had fallen, the strands straight and fluid. The dress and shoes she'd wasted most of her check on were still snug over her body, and she looked prettier then she had ever cared to make herself—and she felt empty and ill and foolish.

Eren had forgotten their anniversary and had gone to a bar instead. He'd spoken to a woman at this very bar.  _Hanji._

She wondered if they'd danced.

He'd never wanted to dance with her.

She'd seen him dance once with Annie. He'd looked embarrassed and awkward and clumsy—but he'd looked happy.

She took another drink, swallowing several mouthfuls.

How long had it been since she'd danced with anyone? Her head spun pleasantly as she whirled across the floor, the alcohol beginning to creep in, muddling her thoughts.

She'd forgotten how it had felt to have someone dance with her.

She'd forgotten how it had felt to dance at all.

She was Mikasa Ackerman. She was always level headed and composed and collected. She was intimidating. She was skilled. A woman seen as untouchable.

But tonight she was just reckless enough to dance by herself in an empty bar, longing to be touched. Tonight she was just an insecure woman with a heart writing in insecurity and pain—a foolish girl in a scarlet dress. Tonight the scent of strawberries clung to her skin, and the taste lingered on her tongue.

Tonight she wouldn't think at all.

* * *

As Levi slunk closer he spotted the open wine bottle, saw the flush of the alcohol on her cheeks. Her eyes were shut as she danced, her breaths jagged—not from exertion, he knew, but from some jagged emotion tearing at her insides.

She danced well—not up to par with a professional like himself—but she danced well enough to keep him enthralled. Her movements were lithe, graceful, if a little reckless, her lush body temptingly wrapped in scarlet silk. The material was tight across her full breasts and hips—but the material flowed and fluttered about her pale thighs, her gold colored heels glittering in the low light.

The music spun faster and so did she until she lost her balance and stumbled over herself. Levi moved forward, catching her easily—felt her stiffen in his arms.

"Drinking and dancing often end with someone on the floor." He inhaled her sweet scent—strawberries, if he wasn't mistaken—and held her soft body within his arms for a moment too long before he straightened her.

She pushed away from him, crossing her arms over her chest, eyeing him warily. She was blushing, he noted with surprise.

He hadn't pinned her for the cautious type. Woman in skimpy red dresses who broke into bars weren't what he'd call wary.

He arched a brow. Just moments she'd been vulnerable and uninhibited, wanton and heated—and now she was visibly shutting herself away, all ice and wariness. "You're looking at me like that when you're the one who broke into my place."

Surprise flickered across her features briefly. "You…own this place?"

"If you want to get technical, no. A friend of mine does. If you want me to be honest then yes, I might as well have my named signed on the lease." He eyed her for a few moments. "What are you doing here, besides having a free drink?"

Her lips pressed together tightly as she spoke. For a split second it looked as if she'd been about to bite something out but she paused, a frown creasing her pale brow. "I…didn't want to think anymore."

He stayed tactfully silent.

The music continued to play rapidly about them.

She pulled up the scarf and held it pressed over her mouth, looking vulnerable yet withdrawn, small and almost childish.

She didn't want to think, he thought curiously. He knew what that felt like intimately, wretchedly too well. He held out his hand. "You dance well." He caught her large dark gaze. "So do I."

There was a brief moment where it seemed that she would refuse. He saw the way she shifted back ever so slightly, the way her eyes closed off—but then he saw her hesitate, her eyes tracing over his features. She seemed to see something he didn't quite understand, coming to a conclusion that was perhaps fueled by the wine swimming in her blood. Her eyes latched onto his mouth briefly, making the muscles in his body tighten, and then she looked back up.

She slipped her warm hand in his.

"Show me." She murmured softly.

He smiled darkly and pulled her closer, spinning her so that her back was pressed flush to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her when she stiffened in surprise. "Relax." He breathed the words against her skin. "Let me take control."

She softened against him, leaning her supple body against his. He positioned her arms correctly, framing her, sliding his hot palm down her arm, to her waist, settling it over her lower stomach possessively.

He glanced at her blushing expression in the mirror—and she broke her frame to readjust her slipping scarf.

Slightly irked, he grasped the red material about her neck and tugged it away—but she snatched his wrist, her nails biting into his skin.

"No." Her gaze was lowered, her voice cracking.

He arched a brow. "It's in the way." He tugged it off, exposing the pale column of her throat, revealing the thrashing pulse at the base, the elegant line of her collarbones. She seemed to struggle with herself as he threw it onto the counter—then slid his hand back over her flat stomach, letting his callused fingertips rasp over the cool silk.

He felt her shaky inhale and felt her abdomen shiver beneath his touch, saw the chills prickle across her skin, viciously pleased by her sensitivity.

He wanted to learn her slowly but the music was much too quick—but perhaps, Levi thought with uncharacteristic hopefulness, he could take his time discovering her later. Perhaps this could be more than just one night.

Perhaps he could have more for once in his life.

Their movements were a little jerky at first, then fluid, moving rapidly across the floor. He could feel his pulse speed up—not from exertion—but from the way she felt against him, the way her body easily moved  _with_ his.

Knew she'd move this easily when he had her beneath him.

The music reached its zenith and he spun her hard, tilting her backwards, bowing her over his arm—the movement took her by surprise and she instinctually tried to catch herself, her hands clutching at the front of his shirt, her leg hooking over his hip.

He held her steady beneath him, smiled at her a little arrogantly. "Did you think I'd let you fall?"

Her dark gaze flickered over his features again, almost wonderingly.

The song changed into a slower one, the beat steady, deep.

She looked at his mouth again.

And he wondered if her mouth would taste like the wine she'd drunk. He let his other hand slide across her stomach, dip into her waist and smooth over the flare of her wide hips. He slid it lower until his fingertips smoothed over the folds of her dress and onto the smooth skin of her pale thighs, hooking behind her knee and adjusting her grip around his waist.

She inhaled sharply, her petal pink lips parting.

But she didn't stiffen.

And she didn't move away.

He slid his hand back up to grasp at the inky, sleek strands of her hair, cupping the back of her skull. He angled her head beneath his, his mouth brushing over her bottom lip.

"Tell me your name." He breathed, smoothing his mouth over jaw.

Her voice was weak and thready. "Mikasa…"

He found the beating pulse at the base of her throat, breathed against it. "I'm Levi."

He moved back up and found her mouth parted for his, her hands slinking up to his hair. Her breath brushed against his mouth, the scent of strawberry wine filling his lungs as he moved to kiss her—when the sudden ring of a cell phone sounded shrilly.

The desire in her gaze was broken instantly.

Her hands tightened on the front of his shirt and pushed him away. He hesitated briefly but pulled her up back onto her feet, sent a black glare at her infernal cell phone. She answered it quickly and pressed it to her ear.

"Sasha?"

Levi lowered the music and tried to cool his blood. He'd let his passion get a little out of hand but he couldn't quite regret it. He would have had her if her bloody phone hadn't rung.

"Thank you. I'm on my way home…No, I just…went for a walk. I'm fine, Sasha. I'm not upset about it. Thank you. Good night."

Levi crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching her darkly as she ended the phone call.

She was silent, her gaze cast downwards as she rewrapped her scarf and pulled on her thin sweater. She rummaged through her small wallet and pulled out a few bills, holding them out towards him.

"For the wine." She explained quietly, still refusing to look at him.

He shook his head. "Keep it. No one asks for wine here, anyway. They were mostly for decoration."

Her brow furrowed but she placed the money back in her wallet nonetheless. "I need to go…"

He cocked his head, observing her, sensing her hesitance. "Do you?" She struggled with herself visibly. He reached out, tracing her jaw with his fingertips. "You could stay." He slid his thumb over her bottom lip. "I can clear your head." He promised darkly.

She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. "I…I have a fiancé."

He went still. A fiancé. He let his hand fall away, crossing his arms again as he leaned against the wall once more. He raised his brows, a little surprised, a little stung. "Engaged, are you?" The words came out a little too harshly. "I couldn't tell by the way you were acting just now—drunk and dancing and wanton."  _I damn near kissed you._

She clenched her jaw. "It was just a dance."

He watched her closely. "It seems so."

She pressed her lips together. "Thank you…for…dancing with me." She pulled up that dratted scarf again. "Thank you for the wine."

She was about to leave when he gestured for her to wait. He walked over and grabbed the mostly finished bottle and handed it to her.

"Strawberry wine—you can take it." He flicked her hair away from her face carelessly. "You smell like strawberries." He smirked when she blushed again. "It suits you." He wondered if she tasted like them, too.

She nodded curtly as she gripped the bottle to her chest. "Thank you…Levi."

He liked the way his name sounded when she said it. It was too bad he wouldn't be hearing her say it again. Yes, the night was a strange one. He nodded and turned away, feigning nonchalance. "Good bye, Mikasa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hammered this out in a day. I ate strawberries the entire time.


	2. Strawberry Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to be a multi chapter thing but that is what I usually tell myself before I start merrily tapping away. I want to keep it short but I know I'm probably going to make this into a friggin' monster.

Eren peered over the kitchen counter as he washed dishes. Hannes had showered and ate and had fallen asleep almost as soon as he'd sprawled over his couch. Eren dried his hands and grabbed the spare blanket from the closet, throwing it over Hannes.

He sighed wearily. He should probably call Mikasa. He'd left his cell phone in his jacket pocket at the bar and he knew how she must have tried calling him. She was probably worried sick. He was a little surprised she wasn't here already.

He reached over to grab his house phone when there was a sharp knocking at his door. Frowning, he crept over as silently as he could. It was probably Mikasa—and he braced himself for her scolding. He opened the door—and felt the breath leave his lungs.

"Annie?"

Her blue eyes locked onto his for a split second—then lowered. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Eren?"

* * *

It took Mikasa several minutes to try and cool her body and mind.

What had she been thinking?

She pulled in an icy breath as she walked down the sidewalk, her breath fogging before her. She hadn't really realized where she was walking until she'd found herself in front of Eren's building, the apartment complex a little dilapidated, a little weary.

She glanced up at the fourth floor and at the window to the far right. His light was still on.

She felt unusually hesitant as she stood there, her grip on the bottle tightening.

Why hadn't she thrown it away? There was less than half left.

She wanted to knock on his door.

But there was something that held her rooted to the spot, something like guilt wrapping around her throat and lungs. Why had she danced with him? Had it only been the wine muddling her judgment?

No. She'd wanted to dance with him.

One second she'd felt such emptiness, such longing and she knew it wasn't only because Eren had forgotten a silly anniversary but the strain that had constrained their words, their silences, the way they looked at each other, the way they  _didn't_. She wanted to fix it, and fix it badly but she didn't know how. She didn't know how to go about those things, always closed herself off when they got into arguments, her silence infuriating Eren.

But she didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to respond.

She just didn't want to feel so heavy hearted.

And she hadn't been paying attention to the dizzy swaying of her head, or the way her heels had tangled—and then she'd felt herself falling, hadn't really cared to try and right herself.

But she hadn't hit the ground.

He'd caught her.

And for a moment she almost thought she'd imagined someone holding her, almost imagined the hard feel of his chest against hers, against her cheek, the clean, soapy scent of clean male skin, the hard arms wrapped around her.

And the deepness of his voice had thrilled her in a way she'd never felt before.

She'd never danced with someone who could match her so well. She knew she was unusually athletic, knew that many men saw this as an insult to their manhood—but he'd taken control of their movements completely. His every step and push and pull had been strong, sure, sharp, both leading her and allowing her to move the way she'd always wanted to.

Had she ever danced with someone like she'd danced with him?

No. She hadn't. She had always had to restrain the weight of her turns, pull back her reins, forced herself to simply sway from side to side since her partner had never been able to do much more.

And with him…with Levi…She'd been able to spin as fast as she'd wanted, twisted as hard as her legs could twirl her, moved with years of leashed passion, let it all go—and he'd pushed her forward at the exact right moment, always held her up, pulled her back with enough force to perhaps send a weaker woman stumbling—and it had filled her with such wonder, such freedom and elation—and  _confusion._

She had wanted to kiss him.

She'd let him touch her, move her body, felt chills rake across her skin at the feel of strong hands, the words he'd spoken.

_Relax. Let me take control._

And she had—but it had felt like freedom, too.

She'd felt weightless.

And now she felt the guilt paralyze her, crash down on her and bring her back to earth with a vengeance. And she couldn't see Eren. Not tonight.

She turned on her heel, still gripping the damp bottle as her heels clicked over the stone rhythmically. She'd just crossed the street and was about to turn the corner when she heard someone shout.

"Hey—stop, please, wait! Don't go."

Mikasa turned, almost slowly, almost unwillingly. She knew the sound of Eren's voice intimately well—heard the panic crack into his voice, felt her own anxiety surge up in response.

She saw a small woman wrapped in a dark coat standing on the sidewalk before Eren's door—where she had stood only moments ago—couldn't see the color of her hair because her hood was up, but she  _knew,_ knew who it was. Eren was a little breathless, obviously having ran down the stairs to catch up to her, his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

But his eyes—those piercing eyes—were locked onto the woman in front of him, that fierce glint of determination shining brightly.

Yes, Mikasa knew who the woman was.

Because Eren had only ever looked at Annie that way—with a mixture of supplication, of wonder, determination and fierceness—and seeing it again made Mikasa feel sick to her very bones. She pressed herself against the wall of the building, her nails digging into the rough surface viciously as she tried to slow the pounding of her heart, tried to make herself invisible.

"Annie…Annie why are you here? I thought you said you were leaving the country and you weren't coming back—didn't you? So why are you here, Annie?" Eren straightened, stepping towards her angrily.

Annie shrugged carelessly, her hood beginning to slip back, her corn colored hair glowing beneath the streetlight incandescently. "I…came back." Annie turned away. "Decided to stop by."

Eren grasped her shoulders, shaking her violently, his voice cracking painfully.  _"You decided to stop by?"_ He pinned Annie back against metal of the streetlight, towering over her. "You make me fall in love with you, string me along for  _two years_ , then decide you're going out of the country and break up with me over the phone  _minutes_  before you get on the airplane, telling me to forget about you, about us, about what we had because you weren't ever going to come back—and now you show up at my apartment at four in the morning because you  _decided to stop by?_ " Eren shoved her hood back, grasped the back of her hair in his fists, tilting her head back.

She should leave. Mikasa knew that but something didn't let her, some sadistic force keeping her rooted to the shadows as she watched the boy she'd loved since she was a girl, the boy who'd brought her back to life, the man she'd promised to marry, hold the only woman who had ever really owned his heart.

"How could you do that to me, Annie?" He sounded so horribly heart broken, his shaking visible even from where she was standing, tears gathering and dripping down his tortured expression. "Do you know what I went through the night you left? Do you know what I went through for  _weeks, months_ after you left?"

Annie looked oddly subdued, allowing Eren to pin her and yell at her, her expression hidden from Mikasa—but she saw her small pale hands travel up Eren's arms, gripping his sleeves.

No, Annie couldn't know what Eren had gone through. The only ones who had really known were her and Armin. She could remember it vividly—the sound of Armin's panicked voice over the phone.

_"Mikasa, Eren's at the airport and he got into a fight with a few of the security officers. The cops have him in hand cuffs—but Mikasa he won't calm down. He's not listening to me. He's just screaming for Annie, I think she left and he won't stop—"_

She'd hung up and ran, and when she'd finally gotten there it had been worse than she could have imagined. She'd known how much Eren had loved Annie. She'd seen it happen, seen it grow, even let Eren borrow her car for dates, had helped him buy an engagement ring for her—had bottled all of the agony she'd felt watching the boy she loved love someone else.

But it had been worth it, hadn't it? Because he'd been happy.

But then she'd left.

And he'd never really been the same since.

Eren mumbled something—and she couldn't quite catch the words but he dropped his head, their foreheads touching. Eren released his death grip on her, slid his hands down her back, tugging her towards him.

And she needed to leave.

_Why couldn't she move?_

She'd thought the same thing, been just as paralyzed when Eren had first kissed her. She'd watched over him for those months after Annie had left, washed his clothes, forced him to eat, forced him out of bed to go to school—and it had been one night after she'd come home to find him drunk and sprawled across the kitchen floor that he had suddenly changed the way he'd looked at her.

She'd helped him into bed and he'd pulled her down with him, clumsily cradled her jaw and she'd felt frozen as he hovered over her, everything in her locking into place.

" _Thank you, Mikasa. I'm sorry for making you worry. I think…I think I'm over it already. I think I'm ready."_

And she'd been pinned by invisible threads as he'd lowered his head, asking herself why she couldn't move, knew he was drunk, knew it was wrong.

But she'd loved him so very, very hopelessly. She loved him past the point of pride. Past the point of anything.

Annie lifted her hands, her fingers tangling in Eren's hair, their lips inches apart. Eren removed the band from Annie's hair, threading his fingers through the golden strands, whispering something, a disbelieving laugh breaking from his lips.

And past all of the things, images, memories ricocheting across her skull there was one thought that rose above them all, that wounded her like no other, that made her knees weak; Eren had never, ever looked at her that way.

She shut her eyes, stumbling forward, dragging her palm across the wall as she finally walked away.

* * *

Levi wasn't a spiritual man. He didn't believe in airy things like fate, or destiny—but, it had been a very strange night. He'd stumbled upon a beautiful, tortured wreck of a woman, had danced with her briefly, felt her skin, the scent of her clinging to him as if he'd bedded her, reminding him he hadn't, making him feel restless.

 _Strawberries,_ Levi thought to himself as he slid into his car. He wondered if he'd ever be able to see them without the memory of this night flickering within him.

It had simply been a chance meeting. She'd just been a young foolish girl in a scarlet dress, a little too drunk, a little too reckless, dancing alone and he'd been just captivated enough to dance with her.

Just one night, just for a few minutes he'd forgotten about who he was. But it was just one night. A drunken woman who'd stumbled into his bar.

No, Levi didn't believe in silly things like fate.

But he'd only driven for a few minutes before he found her again.

She was on her knees on the side walk, her hand pressed against a fence, her red skirt rucked up and haphazardly strewn about her thighs. He frowned and pulled over, stepping out and walking over to her quickly.

"Mikasa?"

She didn't look up, her frighteningly blank gaze turned inwards, her fingers twined about the fence wires tightly.

Levi lowered himself onto his haunches before her, pushing her hair aside. "Mikasa," He gentled his voice, his fingertips clutching her chin. "Did someone hurt you?"

He should have made sure she had a way to get home—he'd let the surprise of finding out she had a fiancé cloud his judgment, hadn't thought of the danger of a young, half inebriated girl in a scarlet dress walking home at three in the morning.

It took her much too long to respond, her voice thin. "No. I'm fine."

Her other hand was gripping the bottle he'd given her, and he saw that her knees were scraped raw—wondered how many times she'd fallen before she'd decided to stay crumpled in this spot. He sighed, removing his jacket and tugging it over her icy, bare shoulders. He slid one arm around her back, sliding the other beneath her knees. "Hold onto me." He lifted her in his arms, carrying her towards his car. He slid her into the passenger seat, clicking on her seatbelt.

He slid into the driver's seat and cranked up the heater, more for her sake then his. He kept glancing at her from the corner of his eye as he drove. "Would you like to tell me where you live?"

Her listless gaze was focused on the bottle in her hands, unseeing and unhearing. He breathed in through his nose, the scent of strawberries filling his car.

"If you don't speak up I'm going to take you back to my place."

She finally seemed to hear him, looking up. "I have…I have a fiancé."

He looked at her a little skeptically. "Do you? Then perhaps you should give him a call. Here." He handed her his cell phone crisply, stopping at a red light. "Go on." He prodded. "Tell your fiancé that you're drunk and in a strange man's car. Well, perhaps not so strange since we did just dance alone at a bar together, didn't we? I'm sure he'd be delighted to find out that his betrothed is drunkenly frolicking in bars and wandering the streets at four in the morning, having men pick her up because she decided to sit on the ground like a petulant child throwing a tantrum."

The light turned green.

She didn't take the phone.

He dropped the phone into the cup holder between them, driving through the lonely streets with ease and familiarity. When he spoke he gentled his tone. "If you have a fiancé, Mikasa, why isn't he with you now? Shouldn't he be the one bundling you into his car and taking you to his home?"

She turned away, looking out the window, her pale face reflected in the glass as she spoke quietly. "He's…he's with her."

Ah. Everything clicked into place as Levi turned into his drive way, and he inhaled deeply as he shut off the engine. He watched her carefully. "Your fiancé is with another woman, then?"

Her pale fingers gripped the neck of the bottle in a stranglehold. "He…still loves her. The way he looks at her…" She shut her eyes, dropped her head back, exposing her working throat.

It made sense now. The way she'd looked at him, when she'd said she didn't want to think, the recklessness of her actions one moment and her reservation the next.

He opened his door. "Can you walk?"

She swallowed thickly, nodding. He stepped out and opened her door, helping her out. He unlocked his door and pulled her inside, switching on the lights deftly. "Don't touch anything without permission. The spare bedroom is upstairs. I'll give you a change of clothes so you can shower, though, as you can understand, I do not have any clothing for women."

She nodded slowly, her gaze still lowered. "You live alone?"

He hung his keys up. "I do. Unlike yourself, I have no prior engagements that were conveniently omitted." He slid his jacket off of her and hung it up beside the door. "Come." He wrapped his arm around her slim waist, helping her up his wooden stairs. They'd made it about midway when she stumbled, her heel twisting. "Really," Levi muttered, tightening his grip around her. "Just like a child." He hefted her up against his chest, carrying her up the stairs swiftly.

He swept her into his bedroom, depositing her on the bed. "Stay put. Don't fall asleep." He rummaged through his drawers, tugging out a clean pair of black boxers and a black t shirt. He handed them to her, removing the wine bottle from her clutching fingers and placing it on the nightstand. "The towels are in the bathroom. There's a spare toothbrush in the sink drawer. Make sure to scrub all the dirt and blood from your knees, and, well, your body."

She stood a little unsteadily and he wondered if taking a shower in her state was a good idea—wondered if he'd find her passed out on the shower floor. She gripped the door knob to his bathroom door, then paused, peering at him from over her shoulder.

He was momentarily taken by her beauty, the dark curtain of her lashes, the deep black color of her eyes, of her hair, the bright flush on her pale cheeks, by the obvious frailty of her mind and heart. At the moment she didn't look like an inebriated woman who'd stumbled into his bar looking for distraction—she looked like a broken bird. "Thank you…for doing this for me. I'll repay the favor." She opened the door and slipped inside the bathroom, shutting it quietly behind her.

* * *

Levi had just finished peeling the dark gray comforter off his bed when Mikasa finally emerged from shower, the steam clinging to her body as she stepped into his bedroom.

He'd been about to snap that it was about damn time she got out when the bareness of her legs silenced him. His shorts fit him neatly but on her they were snug, the flare of her hips raising the hem to the very tops of her thighs, exposing sinfully long legs. His black t shirt fit her perfectly, if not a little tight across her full chest, the thin cotton doing nothing to hide her lovely figure. Her damp black hair fell about face prettily, her skin clean and dewy.

He looked away, snapping a towel over his sheets. "Come. Sit. I need to clean your scraped knees before you go to bed—in the spare bedroom." He grabbed a small first aid kit, rummaging through it as she sat. "Put your legs up over the towel. Knees up. Gods know how much shit you have embedded in your skin." He wiped her scraped knees with an alcohol wipe, gentling when she flinched. She'd placed her head on his pillow and he arched a brow. "Your hair is wet." He threw her another towel.

She caught it, folding it beneath her head. "I can clean my own wounds."

He made a short sound of disbelief, tearing open two gauze pads. "You couldn't even make it up the stairs. I very much doubt your ability to clean and disinfect your wounds properly. Do you know how filthy sidewalks are?"

She looked away, her eyes examining his neatly organized room a little drowsily. "You…like cleanliness, I see."

He nodded, taping the thin gauze over her knees carefully. "Unfortunately not many people do."

She glanced at him, a little sadly, a little sleepily. "You're a kind man, aren't you Levi?"

He paused. "I wouldn't exactly be pope material," He muttered flippantly, throwing the wipes and paper away. "But neither am I the sort of man who'd leave a young girl out on the street." She looked up at him and he held her gaze as he spoke. "You're rather trusting. I could have murdered you by now."

She tilted her head, and he finally saw a dark glint of humor seep into her eyes, found the sight oddly enchanting. "I'm not as helpless as I seem."

"Somehow, I don't doubt that." He narrowed his eyes as he spotted another bloody splotch on her left ankle. "Hell—how many times did you fall?" He bit out, rummaging through the small kit. He tore open another alcohol wipe, gently and thoroughly wiping her bloody ankle. "I'm out of gauze. I have another kit in the kitchen down stairs. Don't move—and don't fall asleep."

He walked out of his bedroom and down the stairs, wondering what the hell he was doing taking a strange woman into his home and bed—without the intention of sleeping with her, anyway. He grabbed the kit and placed it on the small island, clicking it open and searching for gauze.

_"You're a kind man, aren't you Levi?"_

He shook his head. She was an idiot if she thought him as any kind of saint, or any inch kind.

But he had been kind to her, hadn't he?

He didn't really understand it himself, could perhaps chalk it up to simple, primitive male attraction—but he knew it was something a little deeper. He'd seen her expression, that dull look in her gaze, heard the pain in her voice when she'd said  _I didn't want to think anymore_ and it had made him unable to shut her out, unable to simply kick her out of the bar like he should have done.

He shook his head, unable to understand his own actions, grabbing two bottles of water on his way out of the kitchen. He climbed up the stairs and entered his bedroom. "I brought you water—perhaps it'll help sober you." He silenced himself when he looked at her, her body curled tightly in the center of his bed, her eyes shut, her breathing deep and easy. "You're asleep." He muttered, placing the bottles down. "I told you not to bloody fall asleep." He sighed, tearing open the gauze quietly. He grabbed her scraped ankle, carefully applying the gauze over it.

He tossed the wrapper away, tugging the towel off the pillow and out from underneath her body. Her head—and wet hair—was on  _his_ pillow, so he scooted her over a little, tugging the comforter over her. He stood looking over her for a few moments, wondering if he should sleep in the guest room.

Like hell. First she breaks into  _his_  bar, drinks  _his_  wine, spends the night in  _his_  home and then takes  _his_  bed for herself? A gentleman might've let her sleep alone—but he was no bloody saint and this was  _his_  bed. He shut the light off, slipping in beside her.

He eyed the back of her dark head, tried not to think of how close she was. Yes, it had been a while since Levi had had a woman in his bed. And he'd never had a woman sleep in his bed—and  _just_ sleep. He turned, facing away from her and shutting his eyes, eyeing the now light blue of the fading night sky.

Levi usually had trouble sleeping but as the muscles in his back and arms softened and relaxed, lulled by the sound of her deep breathing and the unfamiliar and welcome warmth against his back, he slipped into slumber as soon as he shut his eyes.

* * *

It was hours later that Mikasa woke, giving a little start when she felt hard arms wrapped around her, the length of his body pressed against her back. She felt his breath against the back of her neck, ruffling her hair gently.

"You still smell like strawberries." She heard him murmur. "Go back to sleep."

She was too tired to do anything else.

* * *

Levi woke hearing the persistent buzzing of his cell phone. He muttered a curse beneath his breath, rolling over—finding his bed empty. He fumbled over the night stand until he found his dratted phone, punching the answer button viciously.

"What is it?"

"It's three in the afternoon." Hanji spoke much too energetically, her words jumbled and rapid. "Did you get home okay? You're late. You're never late. I was worried maybe you'd been kidnapped or mugged and were unconscious in an alley somewhere. Erwin is actually heading over there since you weren't answering your phone and well, you know, Erwin's all business when it comes to these sorts of things." He could hear music playing in the background; hear the way Hanji's shoes squeaked over the floor. "Did you forget about the dancing lesson? The couple today at seven?"

Levi peered at the alarm clock on his nightstand. "A couple? I thought it was just that brat?"

"No, no, no." Hanji sung, audibly chewing something. "He's bringing his girlfriend, I think, or something of the sort. I was half distracted by the way you were beating that poor man."

Levi sat up, scanning his room—but she was nowhere to be found. There was the scent of freshly cooked food lingering in the air however, making his stomach rumble willfully. "He was a drunken homeless man trespassing on our property after hours." He shoved the blankets away. "I just woke. I'll be there shortly."

He ended the call, wandered out of his bedroom and down stairs.

Where the devil was she?

He checked for his wallet, his car keys, his car—everything was still in place. It didn't look as if she'd robbed him blind in his sleep—but it looked as if she'd left. He entered the kitchen, finding an impressive arrangement of various breakfast plates. Hash browns, toast, eggs, pancakes and waffles—topped with fresh strawberries. There was a small envelope propped against a tall mug of coffee, his name written in a sharp pretty scrawl across the front.

He forked several slices of strawberries into his mouth as he read.

_Thank you for watching over me last night. I had to leave for work early this morning but I managed to make you breakfast as an attempt to express a fraction of my gratitude. I didn't know what you would or wouldn't like so I made several plates. I left a check in the hopes that it would cover whatever I took. Thank you, again. I'm grateful to have met a man like you._

_~Mikasa Ackerman_

He swallowed the strawberries. He supposed he'd never find out if she tasted like them. Levi put the fork down, taking the small letter with him as he climbed back up his stairs.

Perhaps it was better this way, he mused, pulling his shirt off as he headed into the shower.

_I'm grateful to have met a man like you._

If she'd known how much of screw up he was she'd call herself lucky to have escaped him.

* * *

Mikasa was just stepping out of her office when she found Eren standing outside the door. She blinked at him a little owlishly, felt her pulse become erratic and weak. He looked a little subdued, a little forlorn, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

"Mikasa…can we talk?"

She knew, of course she did. She'd seen it last night. She knew what he was going to tell her.

Her heart screamed for her to walk away, to maybe step back into her office, shut the door, but she'd only postpone the inevitable.

_Not yet._

But she only nodded.

Eren smiled, the expression a little strained. "I had Armin drop me off so we could go in your car."

Mikasa fell into step beside him, tugging her keys out of her purse, tried to hide the shaking of her hands. "Go where?" They tapped down the tile stairs briskly.

"I have something planned for you and me today." He swallowed. "Something…to make up for yesterday."

She froze, her hand gripping the railing. "Yesterday…" He was going to confess. He was going to tell her what happened between him and Annie. He was going to tell her she was back and he was still in love with her and that he was sorry but he couldn't keep being with her—

And suddenly she was in his arms, her face pressed against his throat, and his words were coming out rushed and broken. "I'm sorry, Mikasa." His hand clutched at the back of her head tightly. "I'm sorry for forgetting our anniversary."

_Their anniversary?_

"Eren—last night I—"

"Sasha told me everything. I'm so sorry. It's just I found Hannes drunk on the side walk and I took him home and I left my cell phone and I just completely forgot, Mikasa, and I'm so sorry."

She was a little too stunned, a little too bewildered to respond, her hand simply bunching the back of his jacket, inhaling his familiar scent, the scent of home. "It's…okay, Eren."

Why hadn't he confessed? Why hadn't he left her already and gone running to Annie?

Why wasn't she relived that he hadn't?

"I'll make it up to you." He grabbed her hand, dragging her down the steps—paused once they reached the bottom. "Though, I'm not sure if you're dressed for it."

She frowned, looking down at her white button up shirt tucked into her dark gray pencil skirt. She had her hair twisted up because it had been hopelessly crimpled and limp, and she wore small sensible heels—nothing like the heels she'd worn last night. She really didn't think her outfit wasn't  _in_ appropriate for anything except for maybe hiking.

"Where are we going, Eren?"

He smiled at her brightly, and it had been such a long time since he'd smiled at her that way that she forgot about everything that was wrong, letting him pull her out of her work building like he always had when they were children. "You'll see."

* * *

"I thought you didn't offer dancing lessons anymore, Levi?" Erwin spoke a bit distractedly, sipping at his steaming coffee as they walked away from the coffee shop and back towards their studio.

Levi eyed Erwin from the corner of his eye. "I thought you didn't drink coffee anymore."

Erwin smiled a little. "Still defensive, I see. Are you still going to keep what happened this morning a secret?"

Levi pressed his lips together in displeasure. "I simply slept in a little later than usual."

Erwin was about to push but his phone rang. He answered it, holding it to his cheek with his shoulder, holding his coffee with both hands to warm them. "We're right outside, Hanji." He drank his coffee. "Eren? Is that the boy who came for dancing lessons?"

Levi sighed, checking the time. It was six forty-five.

"He'll be right in." He ended the call, slipping his phone back into his coat pocket. "Eren and his fiancée are waiting for you."

Levi arched a brow, reaching out to grasp the handle. "That brat has a fiancée?"

They entered the studio and when Levi spotted the young couple conversing with Hanji he froze.

Of course, Levi thought.  _Of course._

"Ah, Levi, come here." Hanji dragged the couple towards him instead, oblivious to his—and  _her_ —complete shock. "You remember Eren, right? Well this is Mikasa. They want to practice for their wedding dance."

He met her gaze, felt his jaw clench, his breath quickening as he remembered the smooth suppleness of her skin, of her body beneath his hands, the way she'd felt against him, the scent of strawberries that had lingered on his jacket, in his bed, in his car. The way he'd woken with her in his arms, the sensation of holding someone almost completely foreign, but not all together unpleasant, remembered the sound of her little sighs whenever he'd adjusted her against him.

And for a blind moment he was livid—almost furious, enraged that this maddening woman could keep doing this to him, that of all the women the brat could have been engaged to it  _had_ to be her. That he would have to watch them together when he wanted her for himself.

She looked different today. Last night she'd had her hair loose and wildly tangled, her make up darker, more pronounced and alluring, her dress revealing and scarlet and now she was all business, her snug pencil skirt and button up shirt neatly tailored, her shoes low and sturdy, her hair up in a neat coil that irked him to no end, her image that of a severe and intimidating business woman.

He felt his gaze slip to her pink lips, saw the way her breathing hitched in response and for just a moment he wondered what she'd do if he kissed her now, because if he didn't find out what she tasted like soon he'd go mad

He'd wondered if she'd tasted like strawberries, he recalled. But he knew that all of this would taste only of venom.

His rage iced over quickly, his brain finally spinning, working, the cogs turning. He inhaled deeply, holding out his hand to her, his gaze a challenge. "It's nice to meet you, Mikasa." He gripped her hand much too tightly, felt her nails bite into his skin in warning. "Rather feels like we've met before, hasn't it?"


	3. Strawberry Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Donni (levheichou on tumblr) for helping me with the dancing bits. This would have been a disaster if she hadn't walked me through it.
> 
> Thank you.

 

* * *

_"Rather feels like we've met before, hasn't it?"_

He let his fingertips rasp across her damp palm as their hands clasped, enjoying the sight of chills plucking across her skin. He kept her gaze trapped within his, saw the way she jutted out her chin slightly, in challenge, threatening to spill blood if he breathed a word.

"Does it?" Mikasa breathed out, her voice giving the most satisfying quiver.

"It does." Levi murmured after several moments.

And still their hands remained in one another's.

"Oh dear." Hanji murmured, barely audible as she walked towards Erwin's office down the hall with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm leaving. Good luck, Eren."

Eren looked baffled but forced himself to give an awkward laugh, turning back to them. Eren smiled a little nervously as he stepped forward, looking painfully oblivious. "Ah, have you two met before?"

Mikasa tore her hand out of his, her nails raking across his palm as she stepped away. Her body was very still as she spoke, her gaze focused intently on the ground, making Levi smirk. She couldn't lie very well, it seemed. "No, we haven't." She spun on her heel, pulling Eren away, murmuring into his ear as discreetly as she could. "Eren, I don't think we need dancing lessons." She tucked a stray strand of black hair behind her ear. "You don't have to make up for anything."

Eren shook his head stubbornly, all confused determination. " _You_ don't need lessons, Mikasa, but  _I_ do." Eren smiled at her gently, touching her cheek tenderly, making Mikasa freeze in surprise—and Levi felt his gut tighten. "I want to do this for you. Please. I don't want to look like an idiot dancing next to you. Wouldn't you like to dance the Walt on our wedding?"

Levi sighed. "The  _Waltz._ " He barely bit back the  _idiot_ at the end.

They didn't seem to hear him, only looking at one another stubbornly.

She made a good show of appearing calm, pulling away from his touch. "We don't have to dance at all, Eren."

Levi placed a finger over the bridge of his nose, waiting impatiently until they finished their stupid argument. He had half a mind to go over to the bar and serve himself a drink.

"Mikasa," Eren tugged at her scarf—that same stupid scarf she'd worn last night— impatiently.  _"Stop."_

Mikasa swallowed thickly, and Levi leaned against the wall, watching her panic in dark amusement. She reached out and grasped the green flyer on the table behind him. "What will this cost you, Eren?" Her pretty eyes skimmed over the prices, and he could see the slight shake in her hands, the paper fluttering. "It's too expensive."

Eren flushed darkly. "I haven't been able to afford an engagement ring for you yet, Mikasa, and I may not have a lot of money but I can afford a few measly dancing lessons."

Mikasa crumpled the edges of the page between her slender pale fingers. "None of that matters, Eren."

"It does to me."

"Eren—"

And Levi had had enough of this nonsense.

"Actually," Levi cut in, tilting his head as he met her gaze. "This first lesson is free. Think of it as an…" His eyes traveled over her. " _Evaluation._  Or, at least, Eren's evaluation as I know how you dance." He eyed the peeling bandages on her knees and ankle. Wondered if they still bothered her. Wondered if the moron knew he was the cause of them.

Eren's brow furrowed. "You know how she dances?"

Mikasa gave him a glare that he was sure would make anyone else's blood boil, her pale hand bunching the fabric over Eren's shoulder. "Eren—"

"You could say there's a certain grace about her." Levi murmured, stepping forward, circling them both while looking them over critically. "She dances well, doesn't she Eren?"

Eren nodded, still looking rather confused. "Mikasa does _everything_  well."

Levi gave Mikasa a suggestive glance over Eren's shoulder. "Is that so?" He held out his hand, like he had the night before, daring her to take it. "I suppose I should see for myself, shouldn't I, Mikasa?"

She went still, her eyes on his upturned palm, tracing up his arm, his shoulder and throat, snagging over his lips—pausing there. He clenched his jaw, felt his own pulse stutter in response, narrowed his eyes when she looked into them.  _Take my hand,_ he challenged, a little bitterly, a little viciously,  _let me see you dance again._

She spoke softly, her eyes never leaving his, and it took Levi several moments to comprehend that she was speaking to Eren—wasn't quite sure if the words were for him instead. "We don't have to do this."

Her gaze was a strange mixture of demand and pleading, and for a moment he was reminded of how broken she'd looked last night, of how vulnerable she'd been in his arms and in his bed.

"I'm sorry." Eren stepped between them, breaking the moment, grabbing Mikasa's arm and pulling her aside. "Let me talk to her for a second."

Levi pressed his lips together, dropping his hand and crossing his arms, trying to pry his clenched jaw apart.

Eren was whispering but his voice carried, and Levi settled to face away from them as he sat at the bar—watched their reflections in the mirror across from him.

"Mikasa," Eren scratched the back of his head. "This was supposed to be my present for you. I didn't get you anything else because you already have everything and I can't afford jewelry—but I thought I could maybe learn to dance so that I could dance with you whenever you want." Color bloomed across his cheekbones. "Please." He pressed his forehead to hers, his hands bunching her scarf pleadingly, their faces inches apart—and Levi almost looked away. "Don't make me feel like shit, Mikasa. I'm trying to make it up." He cleared his throat. "I want us both to be happy."

Levi watched as Mikasa looked at Eren for several moments, her eyes searching, her resolution breaking. She shut her eyes and breathed. "Eren…"

Some kind of unspoken softness passed between them, an intimacy that spoke of years of familiarity, something that irritated him endlessly. Yes, this was all going to be very venomous.

Eren pulled away, tugging Mikasa forward with a hesitant smile.

Levi forced himself to breathe deeply before turning to face them, arching a brow in question.

Eren linked his fingers with Mikasa's. "We're ready."

Levi wasn't quite sure if he was. He rolled up his sleeves, took in a deep breath, trying to slow the vicious beating of his pulse. "Alright." He set his hard gaze on Eren. "Let's begin with you."

* * *

There was something undeniably frightening about the small woman, Reiner admitted without a shred of dignity or pride. He'd known she was back in town, had felt himself sweat a little when she'd called him and informed him that she was outside of his door.

He let her walk into his apartment, shutting the door, tried for nonchalance. "Long time no see, Annie." Reiner clenched his hands into fists, pushed them deep into his jean pockets to stop their shaking. "Ah, what brings you here?"

She surveyed the inside of his apartment with listless blue eyes, speaking bluntly. "I need Eren's phone number."

Reiner glanced at his cell phone atop the coffee table. "Eren's phone number?" He bit the inside of his cheek. "Annie, I don't think that's a good idea. He's…he's with Mikasa now. They're going to get married."

Annie turned away, hiding her expression. "I know." She pushed her hair away, her hand pale and small. "I need his number."

Reiner looked at her grimly. "Annie, I can't do that. You really screwed up Eren when you left. You screwed up…you screwed up Bertolt, too. If you go near Eren again I don't think Mikasa will just sit by. She'll go at you with all she's got and these past few years she's climbed up enough to have enough power to—"

"Reiner," She looked at him over her shoulder, her bright blue eyes hypnotic. There was the faintest hint of shakiness in her voice, but he must be mistaken. Annie's voice didn't quiver. Annie was rock steady. Annie was steel. "He doesn't love her. He still loves me." She looked away again. "If they get married it'll be a mistake." Annie reached out, plucking a small pair of scissors off the table, twirling it carelessly, the metal gleaming in the low sunlight streaming from his window. "You could say I'm trying to fix the mess I've made. If you really care about them, Reiner, you'll let me stop this before it's too late."

Reiner kept his eyes on the scissors in her hand. It was true that everyone knew how much Eren had loved Annie. They'd all seen how screwed up he'd been for months afterwards, how much Mikasa and Armin had struggled to put him back together. It hadn't been a surprise when Eren and Mikasa had gotten together. They knew each other, fought against one another, fought  _together_ , had lived together since they'd been children. No, it wasn't a surprise.

But there had always been something not quite right. Always something that seemed off, a sort of stiffness to their smiles, a forced quality to their kisses or embraces. Just sometimes—and while he'd at first thought Eren had simply never gotten over Annie, he'd also sometimes seen Mikasa pull away and withdraw. And that had  _really_ thrown him off.

It was as if they'd both gotten together because it seemed inevitable.

They loved one another, fiercely, but there was a romantic passion lacking between them. Maybe they understood that but stayed together for the sake of not causing one another more pain.

Maybe Annie was right.

But he had to try.

"And if…if I don't?" The question was difficult, dry and cracking. But he was no coward.

Annie put the scissors down on the table, spinning it idly. "I'll ask Bertolt."

Ah, shit.

* * *

Eren never really thought of himself as stupid. Rather, he thought he was reasonably intelligent, resourceful and…tenacious.

And he wasn't a fool, but he couldn't quite understand what the hell was going on either. It felt so awkward, so painfully tense and he was cursing himself for making such a huge blunder on Mikasa's gift no less and— _shit._

Eren landed hard on his knees, Levi holding his wrist in his grip, pulling his arm over his head. "I'm sorry." Eren muttered, letting Levi help him stand. "I'm not used to dancing with…ah." He swallowed when Levi's stormy blue eyes narrowed.

"Not used to dancing with a man?" Levi queried.

Eren forced out an awkward laugh. "I'm just not used to dancing. The last time I danced was a few years ago…"

_With Annie._

He saw the way Mikasa stiffened, the way she quickly looked away, tugging up her scarf, hiding her expression. But he didn't need to see her expression to know what it was. Guilt slowly wrapped about his throat, constricting it, and he shook his head when Levi raised his brows in question, looking between the two perceptively.

"I can try again." Eren muttered.

Levi waited for a few more moments, his gaze scrutinizing him, searching for something—then shifted over to Mikasa, who had her back to them her hard gaze latched onto the window. And this was what had Eren so confused, so hesitant—it felt as if he was missing something, as if every word or look had some kind of double-meaning and no, Eren  _wasn't_ stupid but he wasn't intuitive enough to understand what the hell this was all about.

Levi moved, forcing Eren to move with him, their steps stiff. "You move as if your joints are rusty hinges."

Eren felt his cheeks sting with heat. "Sorry."

"Keep your upper body held still and upright. You're slouching." Levi slid Eren's hand higher on his back. "Keep your hand up here. You keep sliding it lower and I'm beginning to think you're trying to make a fucking pass at me."

Eren's blush intensified. "Sorry."

Levi ignored him. "Spin me."

"What?"

" _Spin me._ "

Eren sucked in a breath, stepping back, clumsily turning them—but then he tripped over Levi's foot, stumbling right smack into Levi's chest.

"Ah, shit, I'm sorry, I didn't see—"

Levi shoved Eren off his chest. "If I didn't see your body whole I'd swear your head was disconnected from your fucking feet. This is the sixth time you've tripped over my foot—do you expect me to shift away every time you make a mistake?"

"No, I didn't—"

"Good. Because I'm not. Now do it again, keep your form in line, and spread your feet wider. What are they glued together?"

"Ah, yes…I mean no—"

"I'd like to dance now." Suddenly Mikasa was there, her gaze threatening, fixed on Levi. "Let him go."

Crap. She was protecting him again. "Mikasa—"

Levi went very still. "He needs to learn how to lead." And he saw the cords in Levi's neck strain, saw that weird something in his gaze, making Eren feel like he was a part of the background. "How else will he make his fiancée happy if he doesn't know how to move his own two feet for his wedding dance?"

Mikasa didn't look away. "He doesn't need to know how to dance to make me happy."

Why did Eren feel like they weren't talking about dancing?

"And you'll be happy with never dancing again, Mikasa?" Levi tilted his head in question, looking almost mocking. "To never know that thrill for the rest of your life?"

"The rest of my life isn't any of your concern." Mikasa looked away now.

Eren shifted awkwardly, Levi still in his arms.

"Alright." Levi stepped away, gesturing to the both of them. He walked away, pulling himself atop a stool, his hands clasped, his elbows on his knees. "Let's see if you guys have any hope." His gaze was only on Mikasa, and Eren knew that he was invisible. "Dance." He commanded. "Show me what you two know, Mikasa."

Mikasa set her jaw defiantly, turning back to face Eren.

And Eren was really, really regretting these dancing lessons.

* * *

She'd been called a good person, once. Just once—by Armin, no less. The words had struck her deeply, bitterly—those words had haunted her most when she'd climbed aboard the plane, the entire flight, every night spent apart from Eren.

And Eren had filled her head in a way she'd never thought possible.

She'd lie on her bed, stare at the ceiling, remember the way his large hands had felt on her body, the way his mouth had covered hers insistently, the way he'd made her promise she'd never leave him.

Perhaps he'd known.

And she'd really thought she could bury him in her past, that she could dedicate herself to her father's wishes, dedicate herself to living the life he'd raised her to live by—but it had been so empty, so cold.

And the thought of his large green eyes and stupid grin had always made her chest ache. She'd been swallowed up by stacks of folders and paper, by sleazy business men who'd pass an unwelcome hand over her body—and it had sickened her.

It had made her remember how welcome Eren's touch had been.

He had always been the one touching her, had always been the one to initiate the physical, grumbled about her  _iciness_ when it came to affection _._  And so when she'd finally returned, finally had him in front of her, and she'd hesitantly reached up for a kiss she had never,  _ever_ expected him to shove her away. Had never known how viciously that would sting her. How much it could hurt.

" _You think I'd fall for that so easily?"_

She hadn't really known what to say, had felt so confused, so stiff. She'd never been well at handling emotions and Eren brimmed with them so brightly.

" _Leave me alone, Annie. I don't care that you're back. Stay away from me. I've moved on."_

But he hadn't been able to look at her, hadn't been able to release his grip on her arms, had only tightened his fingers. He was still holding onto her.

" _Are you in love with her?"_

The question had bubbled out of her mouth, had come out of nowhere, a place she hadn't known existed within her.

" _Do you love her as much as you loved me?"_

And he'd looked so stunned, so bewildered, his hands falling away from her, the chill prickling across her skin as his heat left her.

" _Yeah. I do."_

He'd walked away then, and she'd called out, thrown the same words he'd once thrown at her.

" _You're a terrible liar, Eren."_

She exhaled, bringing herself back to the present. She stood across the street from the dance studio, her hood tugged over her head, warding off the chill. She exhaled, hardening her resolve, her hands steady as she dialed his number.

Mikasa and Eren didn't know it yet but she was doing them a favor.

They'd thank her later.

* * *

Mikasa could call it many things—Karma, perhaps, divine punishment, maybe. She'd told herself the entire morning that nothing had occurred, that she hadn't  _really_ done anything wrong, that she had remained faithful but it didn't prevent the culpability that clawed up her throat, that kept her heart pounding and made her hands clammy, her movements clumsy and jerky as Levi watched her and Eren attempt to dance.

_Attempt._

Eren stumbled over his own foot as they turned, falling sideways. She twisted, falling against the mirrored wall so that he fell  _onto_ her, his curses muffled against her neck as he tried to right himself.

"Eren—are you—?"

"I'm fine." His voice cracked, his skin flushed brightly with sweat as he adjusted his twisted shirt. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head instantly, worry knotting her insides as she straightened herself.

"Right," Eren muttered. "Of course I didn't." He looked a little more than disgruntled.

"Eren, we don't have to do this." She spared Levi a side glance, watched him glare at everything and nothing in particular. She lowered her voice as she stepped towards him, her hair straggling and clinging to her neck and temples, letting the music blanket her words as she repeated them for seemingly the billionth time. "Eren, we can have a slow dance. We don't need lessons—"

Eren's cell phone rang from across the room and they pulled away from one another. He mumbled an apology, walking towards his phone with a grimace. She watched Eren for a moment, then reluctantly looked to the bar, finding Levi's gaze focused on her.

He'd was sitting on the stool, his boots propped up on the horizontal leg comfortably, his elbows on his thighs as he'd studied them. To anyone else it might have looked like a normal instructor studying what they could or couldn't do—but to her his intent gaze had felt predatory, mocking, his clasped fingers itching to reach out to her, to tempt her, to try and own her.

They stared at one another from across the room for several moments—him still and calm, while she was breathless and uneasy—and then Eren began walking towards the door.

Levi glanced at Eren, who had the phone pressed to his ear, slipping outside to talk, giving Mikasa an apologetic and nervous look.  _I'll be back in a minute,_ he mouthed,  _you guys go ahead without me._

A minute.

Yet it only took seconds for Levi to move towards her.

* * *

"Why the hell are you calling me, Annie?" Eren growled into his cell as he stepped onto the sidewalk, pacing restlessly. "Who gave you my number?"

"Reiner." Annie answered simply, in that same unruffled tone as she always had—except it wasn't  _always_ unruffled. He'd been able to crack her cool several times, had enjoyed seeing her crumble beneath his hands.

_But this wasn't the time to think of those things._

"I'm busy, Annie. I can't talk right now." He inhaled, looking behind him to see Levi approaching a very stiff Mikasa. That probably wasn't going to go well. Mikasa had had it in for the guy since the first insult had left his lips. "Leave me alone, Annie." He shut his eyes. "You can't keep doing this to me."

"We need to talk."

" _We already did_." Eren broke, gesturing about himself angrily, several people circling around and away from him. "How many times did I beg for you to talk to me before you got on the airplane, Annie? Did you give me a fucking chance? No, you didn't, so why the hell should I give you one now?"

There was a pause before she spoke, and Eren almost wondered if she'd hung up. Felt his stomach hurt at the thought—and her words caught him off guard.

"Do you hate me, Eren?"

_Fuck. No. I want to but I can't._

"No, Annie, I…" He looked over his shoulder again, saw both Levi and Mikasa give him a curious glance. He forced a smile, walking further down the sidewalk, out of their sight. "Annie, I just can't risk…feeling that again." He felt chills prickle across his skin, wished he'd grabbed his jacket before he'd stepped out. "Maybe for you it was…it was nothing. But for me it was the worst fucking—"

He felt someone grab the back of his shirt and heft him backwards into the alley beside the studio, cursed when his phone slipped out of his grip and hit the ground.

"What the fuck—?"

His assailant forced him deeper into the alley, away from the public—and he struggled viciously. Like hell if he was getting mugged without a fight. "Get the fuck off of me—" He threw out his fist but it was caught, his arm twisted backwards—and he felt a painful kick to his leg, flopping him onto his back awkwardly, in a position that was humiliatingly familiar.

_Annie?_

He rolled onto his back—saw her stand over him, looking both deadly and small.

And lovely.

"Annie what the hell?" He groaned, a little breathless. She lowered herself, straddling his hips and suddenly he was breathless for a very different reason— _and since when did Annie wear skirts?_  "Annie—"

Her small hands grabbed the front of his shirt, tugging him up—and her soft mouth caught his, her teeth sharp, striking his, the sound like thunder in his skull.

And it broke the fragile control he'd been clinging to all day.

He kissed her, fiercely, forcing her lips apart with his tongue—but she broke the kiss, the heel of her hands pushing against his throat hard enough to make him choke.

"Annie—"

"It wasn't nothing." She wouldn't meet his gaze, but she was breathless, her blue eyes curtained by blonde lashes.

"What?"

"Leaving you." She slid her hand away from his throat, down his hard chest. "It wasn't 'nothing' it was…" She licked her chapped lips. "I didn't move on. Didn't date anyone else. I kept remembering you every time I tried to."

Eren tried to slow his breathing. And if he was honest with himself her confession made his chest swell with something akin to pride, to relief, because the thought of anyone else touching her the way he had, the thought of her being happy and vulnerable with anyone else but him had enraged him like nothing else had.

It had hurt him the most, kept him awake night after night, images of her naked and entwined with another man in bed burning his throat.

But she hadn't.

He reached up, threading his hands into her hair, arching her neck back as he sat up. "Annie," He breathed against her parted mouth, his hands running over her small body, pulling her farther onto his lap. "Fuck, Annie." He shuddered, his lips trailing down her neck.

And for several moments Eren forgot he hated her. Eren forgot she'd left him. Eren didn't remember that they were in a filthy alley, rolling on the ground, lifting her skirt as she unzipped his jeans.

Eren forgot that Mikasa was just past the wall now pressed against Annie's back, forgot about the promises he'd made to her as he pushed into Annie's small body, jaw clenched hard enough to snap, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise.

Eren only remembered how much he had loved Annie as they moved against one another.

Eren only knew that he still did.

* * *

Levi slipped off the stool, reaching over the bar and skipping several songs, taking a deep drink of his coffee—until he found the song they'd danced last night. He put his cup down, raising the volume, sparing another look at Eren pacing on the sidewalk outside. He turned, giving her a peculiar look—a look of challenge—then walked towards her.

He saw her breath hitch, her voice breathy and desperate and threatening all at once. "What are you doing?"

He reached her—and instead of touching her he circled her, much like he had to her and Eren, except now he was much, much closer, his breath tickling her shoulder, the back of her hair.

"It seems your dancing partner is a bit preoccupied at the moment. I figured we could continue the lesson until he decides to remember he has a fiancée." He walked behind her, tracing his fingertips across the arch in her lower back, felt her body shudder. "You're slouching. Arch your back. You look as if you're trying to make yourself seem smaller, weaker." He murmured softly, letting his fingertips drag across her hip.

"I'm not." Her jaw was set stubbornly, and Levi decided he liked her angry far more than he liked her wretched and depressed. He'd watched them dance enough to almost feel pity for them—almost. It was as if they were afraid of each other's proximity, fumbling, Eren didn't know how to lead and Mikasa knew all too well. He'd seen her try to correct him a few times and his temper would flare and she'd hunch within on herself—and it angered him more than anything.

Where was that passion she'd crackled with last night? Restrained perhaps in her tightly knotted hair, tucked away between the folds of her red dress deep in her closet, washed away like the scent of her strawberry perfume.

Or perhaps it was just past her clenched teeth, between her curled fingers, threading at her pulse points.

Perhaps he just needed to push the right button. The right touch.

"Hmm," He slid his hands up over the front of her body, adjusting her posture, lingering. "I'm tired of seeing you play-pretend, Mikasa. I want your strength." Higher still, his fingertips tracing her collarbones, sifting beneath her scarf, finding the racing pulse at the base of her neck. "If you won't display it willingly perhaps…" His fingers tightened about her scarf. "You'll need some motivation."

He ripped it away from her, almost enjoying the strangled sound of rage that tore from her throat. He jerked aside, snapping the scarf out tauntingly, holding it away from her.

She inhaled deeply, looking as if she a second from dropping him on his ass. He rather enjoyed the thought of her trying. "Give me my scarf." She struggled with her anger for several moments. "Levi."

He gave her a very hard look. "Take it from me." He held out his other hand, palm turned up, waiting for her to take it. "If you can."

She snapped her teeth together—and he saw something harden in her expression, a bone deep stubbornness that thrilled him, filling him with expectation. She moved towards him slowly, all iced over fire, her hips swinging with each step, the walk predatory, confident,  _powerful_ —and she took his hand.

_Got you._

He tugged in a breath—and suddenly she was pressed against him, hooking her knee over his thigh, pressing their hips together. The sudden weight of her against his body made him freeze, his breath catching in his throat with a hiss. Her palms slid up his chest, firmly, possessively, then slid out over his shoulders, down his arms, her fingers creeping up his wrists—and he pulled the scarf back quickly, the scarlet material slipping from the tips of her fingers as he bowed her back.

She wrapped both of her legs about his narrow waist, her other hand anchored behind his neck, letting him take her weight without a moment's hesitation.

"There you go." She had her head turned away, her dark eyes latched onto the scarf, and Levi took advantage of her exposed neck, pressed his mouth to its side and inhaled. "I was beginning to wonder if I had danced with a completely different woman last night."

She leaned forward, her teeth catching his ear, her breath tickling it, jolting him—and she reached for the scarf again. He jerked his arm behind his back, hearing her give the softest curse.

"Did you think it would be that easy, Mikasa?" He tried for teasing but he knew he sounded much, much too breathless.

She took a deep, slow breath, spoke softly."Not at all."

She shifted beneath him, arching, her other hand slipping down the side of his body and tightening on his hip, pressing herself against him at  _just_ the right angle, enough to make any rational thought blow away like smoke. She slid her lips across his cheek, to the corner of his mouth, lingering there, her open mouth tempting him. He moved his mouth over hers, slipping his hands up her back, taking her bottom lip between his teeth—and he felt her grip tighten on the scarf.

_Shit._

He straightened, ripping her away, sending her spinning—and felt the scarf tighten as she clung to the other end of it. The scarlet fabric was stretched between them, anchoring them to one another, tightly gripped in their fists. And he could curse himself for letting her take him by surprise but he could taste the strawberry lip balm on the tip of his tongue, could see the challenge and almost triumph in her eyes as she held an end of her scarf, the way she jutted her chin out as she held his gaze.

Power. Strength.

He wondered if Eren ever saw her like this. He wondered if he knew how beautiful it was to see her revel in it.

"You'll need to do better." He sounded winded, even to himself, his thoughts a little muddled. He cleared his throat, regained his control. "Much better."

The corner of her pink lips lifted. "So will you."

_True._

He shifted forward, sliding his foot out as he used his strength to yank the scarf towards him. She was forced forward, her heels giving her no grip on the polished wood floor. When she was close enough she tried to yank the scarf out of his grip by spinning but he took advantage of her movements, wrapping the scarf around her waist and yanking her back to his chest, pinning her there.

"Do you feel the difference in the way we move together and against each other?" She tried to shift away but he only pressed the scarf about her waist more tightly, keeping her imprisoned. "I watched you both try to dance." His lips found her ear. "And do you know what I've deduced, Mikasa?"

"Nothing." She leaned against him, her body softening against his, a sharp contrast to her breathless words. "You've deduced nothing."

"I see a young couple that has not a shred of real passion between them." Her eyes opened, slid across the room to the mirrored wall, her gaze locking with his. His pitch lowered, didn't let her look away as he continued to speak. "I see a boy that doesn't know how to deal with the power a woman can possess. I see a boy who thinks it unmans him."

She pulled away, twisting, her hands pulling the scarf out and away, letting it give her enough room to twist and face him, her gaze sharpened razor thin with anger. "You see nothing."

He pulled it forward,  _her_ forward, anchoring her to him, stomach to stomach. "I see a woman holding back. I see a woman full of passion, withering herself to accommodate his inexperience, his immaturity." She twisted again, this time trying to rip away the scarf in earnest—but he only jerked her back, bending his knee so that she fell onto it sideways, almost cradling her in his lap and against his chest, his arm around her back, his hand spanning her side, the other still holding the end of the scarf.

"Stop slouching, Mikasa."

She shivered and he let the scarf slip out of his fingers, allowing her to pull away if she wished.

Her hands curled into the front of his shirt—and she shifted, her heels twisting to move away—but she paused, still sitting on his bent knee, her eyes locked onto his mouth.

His pulse sped up. "Stop trying to make yourself seem weaker, less powerful because you don't want to intimidate him. Don't hold back for him." She looked over his shoulder, but Eren still paced on the sidewalk restlessly, his hand gesturing wildly as he spoke.

Levi grabbed her chin, jerking her face toward his, demanding her attention. His fingers slipped down over her throat, tracing her collarbones, sliding down the middle of her chest, touching her stomach as he had the night before, watching her as he did, looking almost exultant when she shuddered. "Do you feel that?" Her nails dug into his chest. "Have you ever felt that with him, Mikasa?"

She shuddered and he could read the answer written all over her. "I feel…What I feel for you is..." A blush tinged her cheeks. "Lust. It's just a passing—" She looked over his shoulder—they both did, and Eren's gaze suddenly met theirs.

They froze in place.

But Eren only gave them a very strained smile, oblivious to their suggestive positions, walking out of their view, his phone still pressed to his ear.

Her nails bit into his skin as she released a pent up breath. "Levi…" Her expression was a strange mixture of guilt and relief. "We shouldn't…Eren could..."

"He seems rather preoccupied with his phone call, don't you think?" No, they really shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be saying what he was. But Levi had never been one to curb the sharpness of his tongue. "Are you wondering who he's speaking to, Mikasa?"

She went rigid against him. She pulled out of his grip, surprising him with the force of her shove. She faced away from him, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her back rigid.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Levi pressed his lips together as he straightened, standing. "It's eating you up, wondering who he's speaking to, if it's that other woman, if perhaps they're arranging another…visit. I wonder who'll pick you up off the street this time."

She looked at him over her shoulder—and the pain in her gaze momentarily silenced him, an agonizing defenselessness within them, her brow furrowed as she struggled to hold herself together.

And Levi wasn't a saint but he didn't enjoy her pain. He didn't enjoy it at all.

"Stop." She cracked, barely audible, her words as thin as paper. "Don't you think I know?" She touched her stomach as if she was going to be sick. "Don't make me say it." She hissed, the words sounding vicious.

"Whatever paltry flame you're trying to fan between you two isn't enough, Mikasa. It's already dying out. Trying to breathe life back into it only makes you seem pathetic."

Mikasa seemed to wind up further, looking close to fracturing. " _It isn't any of your business._ "

Levi stepped towards her—paused. He clenched his jaw, got a hold of himself. "It's your choice." He felt his throat thickening, memories flickering through him sharply. He shook his head. "You're the one who'll have to live with them. I'd say I hope you don't regret them but marrying a man who doesn't look at you with a shred of passion is as moronic as you can get."

She turned towards him, and before he could blink she was on him, making him stumble backwards as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, her mouth on his. He felt his heart thunder in his skull, in his palms, in his throat, her scent faint but potent. He muttered a shaky curse, tried to move forward but she only shoved him backwards, roughly sitting him onto a chair in the corner of the room, straddling him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, struggled with the tightness of her skirt but his hands were there, pushing it up, his hips shifting beneath hers, seeking the right angle, a groan catching in his throat when he found it.

She breathed his name, her hands slipping down his chest as her mouth moved down his throat, her nails catching at the fabric. He reached up, tearing the clip out of her hair, watched the silky strands fall about her cheeks and her jaw as the clip clattered to the floor—and there,  _there_  she was. All fire, all rage and power, scorching him.

She reached up, tugging his head towards hers as their lips touched again—and she paused as the song ended, a soft moment of static before it switched tracks, giving them a brief moment of clarity.

And Levi didn't do this. She was engaged and she was tortured and she was a bloody mess beneath her cool exterior, beneath her anger—and Levi  _didn't_  do this. He didn't get involved.

She was right. She was none of his business.

And as her mouth touched his again he realized that he desperately wanted her to be.

His tongue slid past her lips, the tip of his tongue tracing over teeth, searching, delving into her soft mouth—but it was different, he thought distantly, his heart pounding deeply, harshly,  _slowly_. He angled his mouth under hers, the movements of his mouth almost hesitant, wondering. He deepened the kiss as the heart pounding seconds passed, the taste of her skin and strawberry lip balm filling his mouth. She took his bottom lip between hers when they broke for a breath, sucked at it, his entire body tightening at the sensation.

They heard the door swing open—Mikasa made a strangled sound, shoving at Levi hard enough to send her stumbling backwards. She fell against the mirrored wall, her damp palms slicking over the surface as she tried to catch her balance, her eyes wide as she looked up at Eren.

"Eren..."

He blinked at the way Levi was scowling as he stood, pacing away muttering curses, frowned at the way Mikasa was leaning against the wall awkwardly, her hair messily strung about her face, the clip and scarf on the floor, their lips kiss stung.

"What…" His green eyes hardened as he locked them onto hers. "Mikasa, what's going on?"


	4. Strawberry Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated in particular to Hannah ( levixmikasa on tumblr) because she was one of my first friends and I didn't quite give her anything for her birthday. Happy belated (really belated) birthday, Hannah Banana. I hope you like it and sorry for the wait

Eren was still shaking as he gently pulled out of Annie's body, struggling to keep from slumping to the ground, leaning against the wall as he adjusted his clothing. It hadn't taken long for either of them—how long had it been since he had seen her fall apart like that? How long had it been since he had felt her crumble in his arms?

He raked a hand through his disheveled hair. "Fuck, Annie, what the hell are we doing?"

Annie looked away, shrugging as she adjusted her skirt. "I'm pretty sure you know what we were doing."

Eren gritted his teeth, his entire body burning with shame. "This was a mistake."

Annie pulled her hood back over her head, hiding her expression. "Maybe." She turned, walking away from him nonchalantly, as if she hadn't just twisted him up, as if he hadn't just been inside of her. "Go running back to Mikasa. She'll make you feel better."

_Fuck._

"Annie…wait." Eren struggled. "Is that why you're doing this?"  _Shut up_ , he told himself, tried to stop talking desperately. "Because you want to get back at Mikasa for getting the job you wanted? Because you hate her?"  _Am I just a knife for you to stab her with? Do you really love me, Annie?_

She took another step forward and stopped, still facing away. "You'll think what you want." She looked up at the grey sky. "But if I really hated her, Eren, I'd let her marry you."

The words struck him in the gut—prevented him from speaking as she walked away from him, only made him slump against the damp wall weakly.

How the fuck was he going to fix this? How was he going to face Mikasa now? Gods, it was probably written all fucking over him and he couldn't,  _couldn't_ go back in there, couldn't stomach the thought of facing her after what he had done.

But how long had he been out here?

He smoothed his clothing as best as he could, grimacing at the damp spots on his jeans, didn't want to think of what they'd been rolling over. He lifted his phone off the ground, saw the crack at the very corner. He was checking if it was still working, tried to hide the shaking of his hands, when he opened the door and looked up—and froze.

They'd been up against the wall, and they'd moved away from each other so quickly that Eren hadn't quite seen but—and it was laughable—he would have sworn that their mouths were touching.

But that couldn't be.

Mikasa wouldn't do something like that—Mikasa loved him.  _Him._

"What…" His brain wasn't quite turning, his shame forgotten as the sharp knife of anger slid into his chest. "Mikasa, what's going on?"

She blinked rapidly and he watched her adjust her pencil skirt self-consciously. "I…fell."

There was a split second of static, of awkwardness hanging in the air, as if her lie was obvious and he was struggling to decide whether to call her out on it or let it be. But his mind denied what he'd thought he saw. Mikasa obviously hated the guy from the get go. How could that change within a few minutes? Besides, Mikasa had never had eyes for anyone but him. Her devotion was concrete.

Wasn't it?

It wasn't as if he had any right to question her after what he'd done. It was probably his own guilt skewing his thoughts.

Eren pushed his hands into his pockets, his tongue thick. "You…hardly ever fall."

Levi stepped forward. "The move I made was a little too much for her." He bent, grabbing her small clip and tossing it at her. He faced Eren now, his glare in full force. "Oi, didn't I tell you to turn off your phone?" Levi walked by him—and paused just as he was about to.

Levi leaned in towards Eren, speaking quietly while Mikasa briskly picked up her hair. "Quite a unique scent you're wearing, Eren." Levi's voice deepened. "Don't quite recall you wearing it while we were dancing earlier. Neither do I recall those scratches on your neck."

Eren felt himself go cold. "Please…please don't say anything."

Mikasa stepped forward glaring at Levi suspiciously. "Eren?"

Eren fumbled, reaching for his jacket, swallowing the poisonous guilt lingering in his mouth and throat. "I was just apologizing again. I'm sorry, it was—an important call…It won't happen again." He vowed, his mouth tight. "I think our time is up anyway." He looked at Mikasa, discreetly pulling up his hoodie. "Are you ready to go?"

She kept her gaze on Levi for several moments but he didn't look at her. "Yes."

He moved forward, prayed she didn't see the way his hands were shaking as he lifted her scarf off the ground, haphazardly wrapping it about her neck. He smiled at her hesitantly as the material covered her nose and mouth, reminding him of when they'd been children, his remorse threatening to swallow him whole. He grabbed her hand. "Let's go home." He pulled her forward, waving at Levi. "We'll be here tomorrow."

Levi said nothing as he watched them both walk out the door.

* * *

The drive home was silent, broken only by the quiet murmur of the weather report humming through the speakers. They'd just pulled onto the freeway when she saw Eren's grip on the steering wheel tighten.

"Hey, Mikasa?"

She frowned. "Yes?"

He stared out onto the street for a long time. "We're in love with each other…right?"

Mikasa opened her mouth to answer—and hesitated. She gripped the seat belt across her chest, looking out the window. "Is there…a reason you're asking this, Eren?"

She watched the tic in his jaw through his reflection in the glass. "No, I just…" He forced a stiff laugh. "I guess sometimes I just feel like you can do much better." Eren touched the back of his neck. "Much better."

She tugged her scarf up, pressing it against her still tingling mouth, tried not to think of how good the kiss had felt, how alive it had made her feel. "I can't." She looked at him now, swallowed the shame wracking her. "You're my home." She shut her eyes. "My family."

Eren met her gaze and for a moment it looked as if he was going to say something—but he paused, shaking his head and reaching for her hand instead. He linked their fingers together. "I love you too, Mikasa."

* * *

It was a strange sensation, ghostly and guilt-ridden touches lingering on their bodies.

They'd gone their separate ways after the lesson, and Eren had stumbled clumsily into his shower, washing the sweat and dirt off his skin, finding lightly forming bruises, finding thin scratches, tiny marks of her teeth over his collarbones. And even as he scrubbed his skin raw he couldn't quite forget how her skin had felt beneath his palms, the way her nails had dug into his skin, the way she'd driven him up just as hard as he'd drove her. He woke up enough times in the dead of the night with her name on his lips, enough times to reach over and grab his cracked phone, texting her  _Goodnight Annie_ like he had when they had first gotten together.

She never responded and he erased it minutes after.

And he refused to think of his actions until the morning.

Or perhaps the morning after.

Just not now. Never now.

No matter how many times Mikasa had brushed her teeth, no matter the amount of coffee or tea she drank or how many times she brushed her fingertips over her lips she still felt Levi's mouth on hers, still remembered how exquisitely he had kissed her, still felt his fingers grasping at her hips and her ribs, felt how viciously his heart had beat within his chest, her palms lingering over it greedily.

And if she woke the next morning and found a text from Levi stating  _the check you left me was completely fucking unnecessary_ she didn't wonder when he had managed to grab her phone, didn't wonder what had possessed him to punch in his number to her contacts.

She only smiled and erased the text minutes afterwards, denying him a reply.

She only knew she felt curiously light hearted for the rest of the day, a lightheartedness that she hadn't felt for a long, long time.

They kept the precarious lessons up for a while, looks and touches hidden, a burning brush of fingertips across shoulder blades, a quick breath against the pulse at their wrists. Levi made it a habit to point out how much chemistry she and Eren lacked and Mikasa always made it a point to discreetly knee his gut or brush her fingers across his lower stomach.

Either one left him equally as breathless.

And if Levi enjoyed the shivers she gave him when he dragged his lips across the back of her neck or the way her breath hitched whenever his hands grasped her hips he never said a word, only memorized the flutter of her pulse, the glares softened with the desire he tugged out of her.

They didn't notice their small habits forming, didn't notice that they had almost begun to look forward to them, had begun to learn one another, to both anticipate and dread the electricity between them.

They didn't notice how easily they seemed to fit.

Neither did Eren.

Because he was much, much too preoccupied with darker things. Preoccupied with hiding his cell phone, finding Annie in the most inconvenient of places, taking her quickly and roughly in a closet, a dressing room, in the passenger seat of his car. Preoccupied with making sure Mikasa didn't see the scratches and bruises on his skin.

Preoccupied with trying to balance everything and with trying to stop this madness.

And yes they kept these forbidden and hidden touches in the dark for a week or so—a week or so before something finally gave.

* * *

Since Levi had given Mikasa his cell number she had not—even once—contacted him.

So when he received a text from her he immediately put the dish rag down, clicking the message open and reading it in the privacy of his office. It was a link to a video and just as he finished watching the dance number he received another text from her.

_I want to try that._

Levi's brows rose, stemming his amusement as he replied.

_Is that a request or a demand?_

The screen lit back up almost instantly.

_It's what you're being paid for._

Levi leaned against the edge of his desk, hair falling over his brow as he thought. It was, he supposed, but they had paid him to teach them a  _wedding_ dance and these moves were a bit advanced for two beginners. Or, well, Eren—he was sure Mikasa could learn them in a session or two.

_It's an advanced move. That might be a little too much for you and Eren will probably end up hurting himself._

He heard the front door open, Hanji's voice talking excitedly. He kicked the door shut behind him just as he received her reply.

_I'd like to learn it alone. I can pay you extra if that's what you're worried about._

Levi sat in his chair, sighing.  _It's not._ He paused before adding on the question.  _Are you really sure you want to try it, Mikasa?_

She replied after a minute.

_I wouldn't have asked otherwise._

Levi hesitated before sending her another text.

_Arrive an hour earlier than usual. Without Eren._

* * *

"Easy." Levi murmured, his lips pressed to the curve of her ear. "Relax. You're too tight."

Mikasa shivered, turning her head to meet his gaze, his breath brushing against her mouth. "Just do it."

Levi huffed, his amusement a little more than strained. "Patience. I'm the instructor, Mikasa." His hand slid down her spine, urging her to bend before him. "Not you."

She arched forward, her hands slipping between her thighs and clutching at his, their fingers linking. His blue eyes caught over the chills raking over skin, pausing to enjoy the feel of her against him, her heady scent enveloping him, how sensitive she was to his touch.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded.

He bent his knees—then yanked on her hands, flipping her neatly, quickly. She landed on her heels just in time, her hands still gripped in his, crouched between his legs. He looked up across the room to the mirrored wall, catching the flicker of a smile flitting across her lips, satisfaction evident in her dark eyes.

"Good." He murmured, helping her straighten up. "Again."

She shook her head, shaking out her left foot. "My leg is cramping." She admitted and he nodded. He'd noted her leg had kept stiffening even if she'd thought she'd hid it well and he had to admire how long she'd held out.

Levi released her hands, tossing her a water bottle as he drank from his. "Satisfied?"

Mikasa removed her scarf, pressing the cold plastic against her nape as she spoke. "No." She slid the wet bottle lower. "It's almost time for Eren to arrive."

Levi glanced at the clock. "So it is." He pulled out a chair, gesturing for her to sit down. "Rest until then."

She looked a little wary—but sat nonetheless, watching him as he sat across the small table from her. He took another deep drink, catching the way her dark eyes flickered over his working throat. "So," He put the bottle down, leaning back against his chair. "Where did this sudden urge to learn complicated lifts come from?"

"We tried lifts over the weekend." Mikasa spoke quietly. "I did most of the lifting."

Levi cracked his neck. "You wanted to be lifted, too, I'm assuming."

Mikasa shook her head. "I didn't care either way."

Levi felt slightly irritated. "Then why ask me?"

Several drops from the bottle slid over her skin, the fading sunlight from the windows painting the droplets in gold. "I'm not afraid to hurt you."

Levi watched the way her lips circled the rim of her bottle, the beads of water that clung to her bottom lip. "You're strong." He eyed her bare arms, the defined muscles shimmering with the barest sheen of sweat. He'd pressed his hand against her stomach a few times while they'd danced, had felt the hardness there, knew she had to put herself through brutal physical discipline to keep herself in such ruthless shape. "I'm stronger."

Her eyes met his at that. "Maybe." Her eyes drifted over him. "You're also older."

Levi nodded, his eyes lingering over her damp throat, the delicate sharpness of her collarbones. Yes, she was young and he wasn't quite young himself. "Years mean experience, Mikasa." He couldn't help but feel amused at her barb. "It gives me leverage."

"You may have more years, Levi." Her lips lifted in a small smile as she pressed the tip of the bottle against her mouth again, her dark eyes roving over him pointedly. "But that doesn't mean you have more experience." She swallowed, capping her bottle. "Or that you know how to use it."

Levi bit the inside of his cheek when her phone vibrated quietly, the table thrumming beneath it. She lifted the slim device, tapping at the screen, eyes flickering as she read.

"Eren?" Levi asked.

She nodded. "He's going to be late."

"Nothing unusual." He murmured, raking his mussed hair back. They sat there in comfortable silence, Levi watching the way she slowly relaxed in her chair, her head falling back after several minutes.

"You look exhausted." There was the faintest hint of a smudge beneath her eyes, a sluggishness to her movements that he had not seen before.

"I've been working late." She admitted, pressing the bottle to her neck again. "Haven't had much time to sleep." She touched her temples.

"Headache?"

She nodded, eyes shut.

He shouldn't he knew, but he could care less. He stood, dragging her chair towards him, standing over her. She stiffened when his fingers pressed in on her temples, lashes fluttering when he massaged, his thumbs sliding to her clenched jaw. "Keep your eyes closed."

Her breath shuddered out of her. "That feels…"

"I know." He murmured. "What kind of lifts did you practice?" He slid his fingers into her hair, more to feel it than to ease her achy head.

"A lot of them." She leaned into his touch the way a cat would, his pulse quickening at the sudden rasp of her voice. "I lifted Armin with one hand."

His lips quirked up. "That's easy. He's small, isn't he?" He'd seen a photo of the three of them and the blonde boy had looked slight and frail between them both, blue eyes alight with intelligence and happiness.

She looked up at him, sounding slightly disgruntled. "I lifted Eren with one arm." Her eyes slid down his chest. "I could lift you."

She moved to stand and he snatched her wrists instead, shaking his head. "Straddle the chair." She stared at him for a moment but complied, turning to straddle the chair face forward, propping her elbows on the back of it. "You're much too pale." He resumed his massaging of her temples. "You can prove it another day." His fingers moved down her neck. "Perhaps when you're not ready to drop dead."

"Hm." She stiffened when he found a ball of nerves at the nape of her neck, shifting when he pressed into it.

"When was the last time you took time off?" He swept his thumbs down her taut shoulder blades, circling into the muscle deftly. "You're as stiff as a damn corpse."

"I have this weekend off." She moved her hair aside for him, drawing his eyes to the elegant shape of her neck and shoulders. "I can't remember the last time I took a vacation." Her breath caught when he pressed his fingers into her tight left shoulder. "I don't like being aimless."

"You could travel." Levi moved to her other shoulder, pausing as the thought occurred to him. "Have you done any traveling?"

She pressed her forehead against the wood as his hands slid down her back. "No." She paused, as if unsure if she should continue speaking. "Eren and Armin have."

He frowned a little, fingers digging into her lower back. "Why didn't you join them?" He'd always had a goal to leave the stench of the city one day, had been saving up for it for a long, long time.

"I was offered a job at a very prominent company. If I took it I needed to start right away, so I did." Her gaze lowered. "It would benefit me more in the long run. I can always travel another day."

Levi pressed into a sore muscle just above her hip, her grip on the back of the chair tightening. He'd heard Eren and Mikasa mention Armin quite a few times, a softness appearing whenever they did. He was a childhood friend, that much he'd deduced, one they were fiercely protective of. "Where did they travel?"

"Everywhere." She sounded a little strained, her back arching as he pressed the knot away.

"That's quite a bit of travelling, then." He murmured. "Do you regret not traveling with them?" He'd latch onto Nile if it meant getting away from filthy sidewalks and car fumes.

She shook her head. "That has always been more their dream than mine." She watched as his hands moved down her arms. "I've always been happy with having a family again."

_A family again?_

She seemed to realize her slip of the tongue, her entire body stiffening, bracing herself for the inevitable question of  _again?_  He kept massaging her arms however, willing her to relax again, moving to her wrists and palms. "You've never wanted to travel anywhere?" He threw a pointed glance to the street outside the studio. "You're content living in this filthy city for the rest of your life?"

She smiled a little, relaxing. "No. I think I'd prefer the woods." Her gaze turned inwards. "As a child I lived with my parents in a small cabin, with a garden out back. My mother and I tended to it while my father would hunt." Her smile was pitifully small. "I'd like to live in a cabin again, some day."

She pulled her hair away again as he moved back to her neck, and in curiosity he touched the small scar upon her cheek. "Where did you—?"

She caught his hand, turning her head away from his touch, their fingers tangling. They locked together reflexively, both of them stilling—but she did not pull away, her dark eyes latched onto their entwined fingers. "It was an accident." She breathed.

He watched her closely, allowing the silence to draw out anything else she wanted to say, watching the nearly imperceptible struggle within her play out.

Her thumb slid over his scarred knuckles, her throat clearing as she steered the conversation away from her. "Fighting?"

He nodded curtly. "I didn't have much. I had to protect what I did." He didn't tell her that those scars were nothing in comparison to the ones fracturing his bones, the fissures in his soul and mind. "I wasn't going to let anyone take anything else from me."

She touched her own knuckles and there he saw the faint silvery lines of once split skin. Her scars were not as prominent as his—she'd healed better than he had. "You're like me." She sounded almost disbelieving.

"Like you?" Levi enjoyed the way her fingers kept stroking his knuckles, the muscles in his arms bunching to keep from moving. Her nail caught over an ugly raised ridge atop his wrist.

"Is that why I—?" She stopped, releasing his hand and gripping the back of the chair yet again. "Is that why I'm so drawn to you?"

He wasn't sure if she realized she was speaking aloud, the question more directed at herself than him. The admittance surprised him nonetheless, shoving the edge that had appeared between his ribs when he'd first found her deeper, making him a little unsteady.

"Maybe." He struggled to tell her that he saw the same jagged lines within her, hidden beneath dark impassive eyes, the hollow places within her heart shrouded with the carefully calculated distances she kept. "God knows I want to find out." He could admit that now, his touch upon her skin warming and shifting, as if he could open her like a lock, discover if they held the same thing within them.

If they had the same missing pieces.

He touched her chin, turning her to face him as he lowered his head. His thumb brushed her bottom lip, her breath warm and shaky against his palm.

"Mikasa…" He murmured, his hands gripping the back of the chair, encircling her in his arms. She tipped her head up and back just as his mouth found hers, her lips parting for the brush of his tongue. Her mouth moved along with his slowly, deliberately, none of the fierceness of their past kisses present but just as much intensity, and as he reveled in the feel of her open mouth beneath his he found he could taste the coldness of the water she'd drank, finding the barest hint of her strawberry lip balm.

She broke the kiss, her mouth pressed to the corner of his as she tried to catch her breath. "Levi…" She twisted in her chair, gripping the front of his shirt tightly, the buttons at the top of it slipping loose, the fabric parting over his upper chest. Her mouth touched the newly exposed skin, her fingers parting the rest of his shirt as her mouth lowered over his hard stomach. Her tongue felt scorching hot, the nip of her teeth making him hiss.

He smoothed the thin straps of her shirt off her shoulders, callused hands brushing over her skin, flushed a deep rosy color.

He was shaking, he realized, his fingers threading through her hair. He tugged her hair back, tipping her mouth up to his again, parting her teeth with the tip of his tongue. How long did they have?

Her nails dragged back up his shirt, gripping his collar, bunching the fabric as he slid his hand down her stomach.  _Let me,_ he found the hem of her skirt, dragging his hand up the inside of her thigh, breathing harshly when she parted them. He caught her gaze and held it, his jaw clenching as he found much softer skin.

_Let me._

"Levi." She breathed his name against his mouth, her brow furrowed as her teeth dug into his bottom lip like knives. "Wait. I can't."

He went still, his hand freezing between her legs, his other hand bunching her skirt in his fist.

The words sounded ripped from her mouth. "We shouldn't…"

He touched his forehead to hers—almost weakly—willing his hand to move away with every inch of self-control he possessed. "If that's what you want." He slid her skirt back down for her. He straightened, every muscle in his body as stiff as his words. Eren could be here any minute. Anyone could have walked in on them. He hadn't been thinking clearly.

She never let him think clearly.

"Let me know when Eren gets here." He pushed the words past his teeth. "I'll be in my office."

"Levi…"

He walked away and she let him.

* * *

"I can lift you."

"Eren—"

"Mikasa, stop." Eren bit back a curse, hating the mocking way Levi was watching them. "Just let me try. Please."

Mikasa inhaled steadily, nodding. They'd been at their wits end and she'd tried every method to cut the lift out of the dance but as soon as Eren had watched the effortless way Levi had lifted her he'd tried, and  _tried_ —and failed.

Miserably.

It wasn't that he couldn't lift her—because he could do that quite deftly—what he couldn't do was lift her,keep his posture upright  _and_  go through the correct steps, fumbling at the twist. They'd tried it all, the tension mounting with every minute that ticked by.

Levi's grim looks weren't helping much either.

Eren set his jaw determinedly, wrapping his arms around her stiffly. "Again."

She nodded reluctantly and they went through the steps robotically. He crouched, preparing to lift her—and faltered just as he raised her, his arms trembling, nearly dropping them both.

She caught her balance, catching Eren in her arms as he stumbled. "Are you hurt?" She knew she was no featherweight, knew Eren didn't weigh much more than her, that she had weighed more than him until they'd hit their early twenties. He could have pulled a muscle, hurt his back and back injuries were always—

"No." Eren gritted his teeth. "I just didn't have my footing right."

Mikasa glanced at the clock on the wall, relief and disappointment making her throat ache. "The lesson is over, Eren." She straightened, smoothing her skirt, trying to press away the wrinkles Levi's grip had made.

Even if she couldn't press away the feel of his touch.

Mikasa shook the thought away. "We still have enough time to grab everything we need tonight."

That is, if he remembered what they were supposed to do—which she very much doubted.

She pressed her lips together, ignoring Levi's suddenly watchful look at her words. It seemed she needed to remind Eren why she'd been given this weekend off. "We're supposed to—"

Eren caught her gaze, the look within them fierce, silencing her. She knew that look intimately, knew that it meant he would not give an inch.

It had been the same look he'd worn when he'd saved her life. "I can give it another try."

_We've already tried._

"The lesson is over." She repeated, almost a little mulishly. She would not let him hurt himself over something as ridiculous as lifting her for a wedding dance. She did not need a dance at all and all of this extra strain had been bogging her down.

Eren exhaled, glaring at the clock as if it had offended him. "Just—one more time, Mikasa. Please."

"Give it a rest." Levi stepped forward—between them—and Mikasa stiffened at his intrusion. "You're exhausted. We'll try again tomorrow." He eyed Eren critically, almost condescendingly, his next words making Eren look pitifully disheartened. "Or perhaps we can cut the lift completely."

Mikasa cut Levi a glare. "I told you to cut the lift since the beginning."

Levi shrugged. "I thought he could do it." He caught Eren's gaze again. "My mistake."

Eren moved forward, side stepping Levi and crowding Mikasa, grasping her elbows. "We're not going to cut it. I can do this. I did it at Sasha's, remember?"

"That was a different move, Eren." Mikasa curled her fingers into his sleeves. And it had been—this was different, more rigid and precise. "If you hurt yourself—"

" _Stop."_  Eren shook his head, tension written all over him. "If Levi can lift  _me_ —if he can lift  _you_ —so can I."

"Eren." Levi grasped his shoulder tightly, voice hard. "Enough."

Eren stilled, eyeing Levi from over his shoulder, green eyes catching on the way his fingers bit into the fabric of his shirt tightly. His voice softened but it still held its weight. "I can do this, Levi."

Mikasa moved forward, grasping Levi's wrist, tugging it away from Eren's shoulder the way one removed a cat's claws. "Fine." She nodded, catching Eren's gaze. "We'll try one more time."

Levi lifted his head, narrowing his gaze as he scanned her features. She was momentarily riveted by the dark blue color of his eyes, by the way his dark hair fell over his brow. She saw his eyes slip to her mouth, felt her pulse leap in response, the phantom touch of his lips ghosting over hers, guilt and desire lodging just behind her clenched teeth.

Levi spoke quietly, his wrist still within the circle of her slim fingers. "Don't you think you've had enough, Mikasa?" His eyes traced over her throat, lingering over the hollow where her pulse leapt up, peeking just beneath her scarf. "For today?"

Mikasa released his wrist as he pulled away and before she could respond Eren stepped forward yet again, touching her waist. "Just…one more time, okay? Then we can go."

She nodded, smiling at him tentatively. He had remembered, then, and the relief of it made her relax. "Okay."

Eren smiled at her in return, his green eyes tracing over her features curiously and Levi stepped away.

Their hands touched, positioning themselves properly, moving through the steps yet again. To her surprise it went much more smoothly, the tension that had held them in its grasp earlier slipping away as if it had never been. Eren bowed awkwardly to lift her—and she let him, her body rising up unsteadily.

Eren laughed a little as he spun her slightly, his expression triumphant. "I did it." He shook her in his excitement, breathless as he kept spinning them. "I told you I could, didn't I?"

Mikasa broke her stance, reaching down to place her hands on his broad shoulders, her scarf slipping off and onto the polished floor. She smiled, a little excited despite her earlier reservation. "You did." But he always did the nigh impossible when he set his mind to something. Nothing was ever out of his reach if he tried hard enough, and he'd proved it time and time again.

He'd given her that same sense, the sense of being untouchable, of being able to do anything—as long as she had him by her side.

Had she really been willing to endanger that for a moment of lust and passion?

Eren's cell phone rang from across the room, causing Eren's arms to buckle slightly in surprise—and his shoe caught over the scarlet fabric of her scarf. Eren hissed as he fell back, his shoulder slamming into the wall, his weight taking Mikasa down with him.

She tried to right herself but he folded in onto her, her heel accidentally digging into his foot and making him jerk forward. She twisted her foot away from his, her other heel snapping from the pressure. Her foot scraped across the hard wood, twisting her ankle harshly, the pain flaring upwards.

Eren struggled to hold onto her, but they both fell forward, hitting the ground with an audible slap. The back of her head snapped against the floor hard, pain flashing across her skull—and she heard Eren shout her name before everything blurred, her vision darkening.

* * *

There was the sound of a constant, rhythmic tapping, stirring her from her slumber.

"If you don't stop shaking your leg," A familiar voice began. "I'm going to strangle you."

The tapping quieted. "Sorry."

Her lids lifted slightly, heavily, and she saw two chairs beside her bed, Levi and Eren sitting upon them. Eren was crouched forward, hands clasped together tightly while Levi had his legs crossed, fingers gripping the handles of his chair a bit too tightly. Armin stood behind Eren, his hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

"You don't have to be here." Eren raked his hair back. "You did enough by driving us to the hospital."

_Hospital?_

She felt the hardness of an unfamiliar bed beneath her body, the smell of antiseptic and sickness within the air. There was a light overhead, much too bright, the window beside her covered in cheap cream colored blinds.

_They'd brought her to a hospital?_

"Why?" Levi threw a look towards Mikasa, unnoticing of her stirring. He looked at Eren pointedly. "So you could finish her off by dropping her in the parking lot?"

Eren winced. "I didn't…"

"She's fine." Armin squeezed Eren's shoulder reassuringly, his other hand ruffling his hair like a father would a child. "No concussion—but there was some mild dehydration. Looks like she isn't taking care of herself the way she should be." Eren linked his fingers with Armin's and Eren leaned his forehead against his knuckles, as if seeking comfort. "It was an accident, Eren." Armin repeated quietly.

"She  _could_  have caught herself." Levi shook his head, blue eyes flickering from Armin to Eren, lingering over their joined hands. "Her heel dug into your foot so she pulled it away and put all of her weight on the other. It's what made her heel snap." Levi looked to her heels propped on the small sink, one lower and on its side, the broken heel dangling by a thin strip. "She let herself fall to keep from hurting you."

Eren dropped his head into his hands. "I know."

"Eren." Armin murmured.

Eren spoke between clenched teeth. " _I know._ I know I'm an idiot alright? But I don't need—"

Mikasa willed herself to speak. "I'm fine." Her tongue felt thick, her throat dry, and her head hurt like they'd drilled nails into it but she'd be damned if she let Levi blame Eren for her mistake. "I'm okay, Eren."

Eren leapt up from his chair—and before she could blink his hands were on either side of her head, his mouth on hers. She stilled in surprise, his mouth moving against hers fervently—and then her eyes shut, her lips parting willingly, her heart swelling at his kiss.

She broke the kiss a moment later, grasping the sides of his head gently. "I'm okay."

Eren nodded, eyes still squeezed shut, his jagged breaths brushing against her lips. "I'm sorry."

Levi looked away, hands clenching into fists. He breathed slowly through his nose and in the reflection above the small cheap sink he spotted the way Armin was watching him instead of Mikasa and Eren, brow furrowed, surprise and concern and perception all rolled into one.

He didn't like that look one bit.

"I see you're awake." Levi muttered, standing, wiping his damp palms on his shirt as Eren pulled away. Mikasa looked at him, her gaze soft, her mouth swollen, kiss stung. The way he'd left her just hours before.

"Why did you…" Her voice sounded dry and splintered and Levi reached forward, shoving the cup of ice water into Eren's hands. Mikasa grimaced and swallowed as Eren tipped the drink into her mouth awkwardly, letting him help her sit up. She looked back to Levi. "Why did you bring me here?"

Levi held her gaze steadily. "You were unconscious."

Mikasa's pale hands pressed into the mattress. "I didn't need to be taken to a hospital."

Before Eren or Armin could speak Levi did, repeating himself slowly. "You were  _unconscious_."

Mikasa looked away, moving to get off the bed when Armin lunged forward. "You'll rip the IV out!" He snagged her wrist.

"Mikasa." Eren grabbed her shoulders, pushing her back onto the bed. He was glaring at her—as much as he could—panic still making his eyes too bright. "You can't move yet."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not! You're dehydrated!" Eren snapped, pinning her to the mattress forcefully. "You hit your head. You hit your head because I dropped you. Because you let yourself fall so you wouldn't hurt me." His teeth were clenched, his voice shaky. "You're always protecting me—stop. Just, stop it, you don't need to protect me anymore."

"Eren—"

"Is it because you think you owe it to me?" His green eyes shimmered, voice thickening with tears he didn't show. "You don't. I never asked it of you."

 _Owe it to him?_  Levi watched the way Eren and Mikasa looked at one another, so much being displayed and so much unsaid, their eyes searching for questions they couldn't quite bring themselves to ask.

"I know." Mikasa said thinly.

Eren clenched his hands. "So stop."

Armin touched Eren's shoulder gently. "Eren."

"I'm fine." Mikasa twisted the fabric of Eren's shirt between her fingers, tugging as she averted her gaze. "I'm okay, Eren."

Eren dropped his forehead to hers weakly, relenting. "Yeah." He kissed her again. "Yeah. Okay. I'm sorry."

Levi watched them for several more seconds, his feet unmoving. If one didn't know better they could almost mistake them for new parents—which they could be quite soon. They were getting married after all, Armin most likely becoming the godfather. They'd be happy, he thought, everything coming together through the force of their will.

And he had no place in their lives.

Levi struggled to quell and name what he was feeling—until he found Armin watching him again. He bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm going to get coffee." He walked away.

He didn't think anyone heard him.

* * *

He'd tried, halfheartedly, to convince himself to leave. She was awake and she was well and she wasn't alone and he was an unnecessary presence.

He despised hospitals anyway.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, blue eyes narrowing when he spotted the muck at the bottom of the pot. He scowled, tossing the cup in the trash.

An elderly woman glared at him with a look a mother would give a disobedient child.

He explained needlessly. "They can't wash a fucking coffee pot properly."

"Here."

He turned when a styrofoam cup was pressed to the back of his hand, finding Armin standing beside him. "The coffee upstairs is better." He gestured to the filthy coffee pot. "Or, well, cleaner."

Levi took the cup a little warily. "Upstairs?" This was the lobby. Where else had he gotten coffee?

"I work here." Armin informed him, waving at the group of nurses walking past them as if to emphasize his point. "I just wasn't supposed to be working today. My schedule switches constantly. Eren thought I was in today."

Ah. That explained why Eren had insisted on bringing her to this hospital in particular and why Armin had been very informative.

"Little too young to be a doctor, aren't you?"

Armin nodded. "Still learning." He shrugged. "May have skipped a grade or two."

Levi nodded, examining his cup critically. He couldn't quite tell if the boy was bragging and he didn't quite care.

"So," Armin stuffed one hand into his pocket, the other cradling his own cup against his thin chest. "You're the dance instructor."

Levi took a careful sip. "I am."

"The way you spoke to Eren was very angry." Armin didn't say it with much venom, not with much emotion at all really, his gaze thoughtful instead of accusing. "Are you worried they'll take legal action against you?"

Levi swallowed the bitter drink, almost biting back a laugh. "No." With the forms they'd signed they couldn't even if they wanted to and, despite not knowing them much, the thought hadn't occurred to him. They didn't seem like the type, anyway.

"I've known Eren for almost my entire life." Armin grabbed the small plastic container of sugar and slid it over to Levi, as if sensing his distaste. "He's honest. He's always looked everyone straight in the eye and said whatever came to his mind. No filter." His small mouth was curved up gently. "It got him into a lot of trouble." Armin took another sip. "But lately…" Armin swirled his cup, more out of habit than need. "He hasn't really been able to look Mikasa in the eye. Or me, when I ask him if something is going on."

Levi wondered if the boy really didn't know. "Is that so?" He spilled a packet of sugar into his coffee.

"It was just  _us_. He couldn't look  _us_  in the eye. Everyone else was excluded—until just now." Armin's blue eyes caught his—and to his surprise he found he could not look away. "He couldn't quite look at you, Levi."

Levi pressed his lips together, looking away. "I don't care."

Armin's pale fingers tightened about his cup. "Is there something going on with Eren, Levi?" Armin licked his lips. "It's obvious you know what it is."

Levi felt as if he'd rusted, his movements slow, weary, beads of sugar clinging to his fingertips.

"You don't have to tell me what it is. Not exactly." Armin lowered his voice. "I just want to know if Eren is okay. If he isn't in any trouble."

"Oh, he's fine." Levi brought the cup to his lips again, the burn of the liquid hiding any sweetness. "He's just fucking peachy." Levi lowered the cup. "Mikasa is the one you should be worried about, don't you think?" His lips twisted, preparing to continue—when he realized saying anything was probably a bad idea.

When the hell had Levi cared about what he said?

"Mikasa?" Armin breathed, watching him carefully. "Mikasa is fine. She's just a little dehydrated. She works too much and sometimes forgets she's not a machine."

Levi scowled, the question tearing from his mouth unwillingly. "What did Eren mean?" Levi glared at nothing in particular. " _Owe_  it to him? What does she owe him?"

Armin's blue eyes examined Levi's features, slightly perplexed by his interest. "Eren saved Mikasa's life."

Levi looked up at him, his grip slackening.

_Saved her life?_

"How?"

Armin licked his lips, contemplating whether he should explain or not. "It was—a long time ago. They were children. Mikasa was abducted and almost…sold. Eren found her and saved her. They've been together ever since."

He knew Armin had watered it down, knew he wasn't nearly telling him even half the story but it started to make a sickening amount of sense to him; Eren's idiocy and Mikasa's devotion, her protectiveness, how she accepted his unfaithfulness so calmly.  _Owe it him_.

"Is that why she's marrying him?" Levi held Armin's gaze intently.

Armin shook his head. "Of course not. They grew up together. They love each other. They have since they were kids. Mikasa is marrying him because she loves him and…" Armin trailed off when Levi looked away. Realization struck Armin visibly and he blinked rapidly. "You and Mikasa?" Armin's voice was weak. "Are you…?"

Levi had had enough. "I'm leaving."

Levi tossed the cup into the trash—for the second time—and walked down the hall without another word.

* * *

It didn't surprise Levi when he received a phone call from Eren the next day. The doctor had ordered Mikasa to take it easy for a few days—more for her dehydration than her head.

Which, much to his dismay, relieved him endlessly.

"We won't be showing up this weekend." Eren informed him unnecessarily.

"Alright." Levi muttered, cloth in his grip, table still not as glossy as it should be. He should be glad, he thought. He'd have a bit more free time during his evenings.

Eren breathed slowly. "Sorry about…everything. Thank you for driving us to the hospital."

Levi didn't reply.

"Alright. I'm heading out. I'll see you in a few days."

Levi clenched his teeth but the words broke through anyway. "Are you taking care of her?"

Eren hung up before he heard him.

* * *

"I can't find my jacket." Eren muttered, rummaging through the closet. "Mikasa do you know where my jacket is?"

Mikasa dragged a towel through her damp hair, looking at Eren over her shoulder. "At the studio." She paused. "You didn't have it at the hospital."

Eren dropped his forehead against the wall with a dull thud. "Shit. You're right." He sighed wearily. "I'll pick it up after work. I'm running late."

Mikasa shook her head. "I'll get it."

Eren gave her a hard look. "You're staying in. The doctor said to take it easy."

"My scarf is there, too." Mikasa began to comb her short black hair. "I need to get a few things from the supermarket, anyway."

Eren sat on the bed behind her, pushing his head against her shoulder tiredly. "If you're not going to listen to me," He groaned. "Can you at least listen to the doctor?"

Mikasa felt herself smile a little, leaning against him affectionately. "I'll come straight home after."

A few drops of water fell onto his nose and he pulled away. "Promise?"

She nodded, wiping his face with her towel. "Promise."

Eren smiled, getting up from the bed. "I need to get to work. I might work pretty late tonight." He cracked his neck. "If you need anything just give me a call alright?"

She nodded, stilling when he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. He'd been more affectionate with her these past two days then he'd been in months.

"I'll check on you in the morning."

She smiled. "See you tomorrow, then."

* * *

He'd just stopped to pick up a cup of coffee when he spotted Annie sitting in the corner of the café, the low glow of her laptop illuminating her—pinched—features. She was dressed in a tailored jacket and pencil skirt, the color an ice gray that made the blue of her eyes much more stark than usual. She lifted her cup to her lips, grimacing a little when she found it empty, tossing the cup with careless precision into the bin several feet away from her. Her small fingers kept tapping at the keyboard rapidly, her eyes occasionally shifting to the window two tables over, her brow furrowed.

And though he couldn't be sure, she seemed worried.

Eren added another drink to his order, waiting until they handed him both cups before walking over to her.

She looked up at the very last second, a brief narrowing of her eyes the only hint of surprise she gave.

"Hey." He slid the cup over, seating himself across from her while watching her carefully.

She took the cup, shutting and shifting her laptop away to give them more space. "Hey."

Eren nodded to her laptop, eyeing her suit. "What have you been up to?"

Annie took a tentative sip of her drink, relaxing once the familiar taste of her tea curled over her tongue. "Job interview."

Eren pulled his cup away from his lips at that. "You're job hunting?"

She looked away. "It's what job interviews are usually for, yeah."

He nodded stiffly, feeling a little slow. She'd said she'd escaped—or, willingly left—her father's ironed out plan but Eren had always held onto that small warning his gut had constantly repeated, knowing she could very easily go back, that he couldn't let himself hope again. But if she was job hunting—perhaps, just perhaps, she was really going to stay this time. "You're serious about staying, then?"

Annie looked away, saying nothing. The silence felt thick.

"It's not only for you, you know." Annie murmured after a few minutes.

He was going to be awfully late for work. "I know." Eren brushed his fingertips over her sharp knuckles. "I'm glad you're finally doing it, Annie." How many times had he asked her to go for what she wanted instead of what her father had asked of her? Demanded of her? How many times had he encouraged her to take the classes her eyes lingered over when she didn't notice him watching? "You always liked those art classes." His smile grew as he remembered those talks they'd had until sunrise. "You told me you liked the idea of becoming a tattoo artist." He recalled, remembering the small sketches she'd shown him one night.

"You're an idiot, Eren." Annie turned her palm upwards, making his pulse thicken and slow. Her fingernails dragged across his skin. "But you were right."

He grinned, the callused pads of his fingers dipping into the center of her palm. "That's the first time you've ever said that to me."

Her blue eyes were soft with amusement. "Don't get used to it."

He laughed, linking their fingers over the table and squeezing affectionately. "I won't."

Annie allowed him to hold her hand the way she had when they'd gone on dates. There was a wistfulness seeping into his chest; memories of their time together flitting through him brightly.

Except this wasn't a date.

Or it shouldn't be.

She'd left and he'd moved on and what they were doing was like trying to salvage the bones of what they'd once had.

"Annie…"

She hummed quietly, relaxing her fingers between his. She looked up when he didn't reply—and she froze at his expression, her guards coming up instantly.

She knew what he was going to say.

And he hated himself for it.

"What are we doing, Annie?"

Annie pulled her hand away slowly. "Eren…" She didn't say anything else, just his name, her voice catching at the very end—and the small sound nearly undid him.

"I think we...I think we need to rethink things." He kept his gaze focused on the scared surface of the table. His hands kept clenching as he forced the words past his teeth. "I loved you for a very long time but what we're doing—it's a mistake. I want to fix it but I don't know  _how_ —"

Annie shifted her laptop before her. She opened it, the screen flickering brightly.

"I know." Her voice was strained despite the blankness of her features. She swallowed and spoke again and this time her voice was quiet and steady. "It's fine."

"Annie…"

She began typing—and it was as if he no longer existed.

He left, walking a little unsteadily, his cup of coffee forgotten on the table.

* * *

Levi glared at the offensive jacket darkly.

He could throw it away, he supposed. Logical thing would be to set it aside until they returned to pick it up but Levi wasn't feeling particularly logical and hadn't since he'd met her. He could perhaps set it ablaze and watch it wither up in the alleyway beside their building. Or, perhaps give it to one of the homeless men that straggled about and give his karma a badly needed bone.

The thought of them returning for a dance lesson and finding a random street rat wearing his jacket was awfully amusing.

"What's wrong, Levi?" Erwin prompted, sitting behind his desk, blue eyes on the sheets of paper scattered over it. "You've been quiet."

Levi dragged his gaze away from the jacket. Erwin had noticed Levi following him about more than usual—though he'd said nothing at first—and he'd finally cracked. "I don't think I can teach them to dance."

Erwin hummed. "Do they not cooperate?"

Levi bit the inside of his cheek. "They try. They lack chemistry. It's robotic—the way they move." Though when Eren had lifted her the last time they'd seemed relaxed; a breakthrough that had been short lived. He should have been pleased to see them move the way they had—however briefly—but he'd only felt curiously bitter. Even if he had felt any sense of accomplishment at finally getting them to learn it would have been largely overshadowed by seeing Mikasa's head snap against the ground.

"I can teach them the steps but I can't teach them anything more."

Erwin scribbled something down, speaking half-distractedly. "Then don't."

He wondered how she'd react once she saw him on her doorstep.

He stood, grabbing the jacket stiffly, its fate sealed. There was only one way to find out. "I won't." He muttered. "Do you mind closing up?"

Erwin shook his head. "Not at all."

Levi nodded, grabbing her scarf and pausing briefly. He wondered how she was holding up without her withered security blanket. "Until tomorrow, Erwin."

* * *

After buying everything she needed Mikasa met Armin for a quick bite, his spacey apartment smelling of spices and smoke.

"I'm in here." Armin called from the kitchen and Mikasa tugged her jacket off. She'd almost reached for her scarf before realizing she still didn't have it, shaking her head as she kicked off her shoes. "Food is ready."

Mikasa slid a chair out and took a seat, eyeing Armin as he slipped a plate towards her. "What is this?"

Armin sat beside her, his own plate before him. "I'm learning how to cook Mexican food since Jean won't stop eating it."

Mikasa hummed, taking a tentative bite and letting the spices linger on her tongue. Armin watched her carefully.

"It's good." She took another bite. "Might be too spicy for Jean."

Armin laughed quietly. "Yeah. He can't handle too much zing." Armin swallowed his own spoonful and seemed satisfied. "Not the way we can, anyway."

Eren hadn't been one for spices either though he never really liked admitting it, especially when Armin and Mikasa had been able to stomach mouthfuls of jalapenos in one sitting.

She wondered if Levi liked spicy foods.

Armin spoke after swallowing. "Eren's working late today?"

Mikasa shook the thought off, reaching for a glass of water. "Yes. I spoke to him a while ago—he might spend the night there."

Armin nodded. "Eren's usually pretty busy during this time."

The conversation flowed smoothly as they finished up. Mikasa swept up their bowls and cups, Armin opening the double balcony doors and lighting his cigarette as she washed. He sat up on the edge of the balcony, turning his back to the sky. His blue eyes watched her curiously.

Mikasa didn't look away from her soapy hands. "Is something wrong, Armin?"

While their conversation had been easy she'd noticed his eyes lingering over her; his teeth had constantly bit at his chapped lips. Mikasa was not one to pry however and had decided to wait until he was ready to tell her himself.

"Levi." Armin breathed his name out with a haze of smoke. "He was kind of…involved, wasn't he?"

Mikasa began to rinse the dishes slowly. "Perhaps he was worried we'd sue him."

Armin huffed. "I said the same thing to him."

Mikasa turned at that. "What did he say?"

Armin shook his head. "He wasn't worried about that." He gestured to her head, glowing embers falling from the tip of his thin cigarette. "He was more worried about you."

Mikasa shut the water off. "It was unnecessary." She placed them on a towel beside the sink.

"Not exactly." Armin breathed out slowly, looking young and frail beneath the night sky. "I've wanted to ask you something, but I think I know the answer."

Mikasa licked her lips, coming to sit beside him upon the balcony. She toyed with the ends of the dish towel in her damp hands. "What question, Armin?"

Armin eyed her through the smoke sifting between them. "What's going on between you and Levi, Mikasa?"

* * *

By the time Eren left work he felt half dead. His feet dragged against the gritty pavement and his temples throbbed. Too much fucking paperwork and too much small print that had to be thoroughly read once—twice and three times over—mountains of boxes and shelves that needed to be sifted through.

" _We're being audited,"_ he'd been informed and had been thrown into a building of endless chaos and frazzled nerves.

He'd tried to lose himself in his work, tried not to think of the small sound she'd made when she'd said his name and of how icy she'd become after—and he found focusing on work was nearly impossible.

What could he say? What could—should—he do now? Would telling Mikasa do any good? Maybe she deserved to know but if he could keep it to himself and bear all the pain alone, quietly—why should he hurt her when he didn't have to?

Even if he could muster the resolve to tell her he wouldn't know how to begin.

" _I was screwing Annie behind your back but it's over now. Sorry."_

Except it wasn't just 'screwing' and he knew that. He swallowed Annie whole—cradled and clung to her. He'd clutched her pale hair and demanded that she  _look_ at him even when they both lost control. He memorized every sharp angle and curve of her slight body, every sound she'd made even when she hadn't wanted to.

He groaned, running his hands over his face miserably. He needed a fucking drink. He could feel a migraine beginning to form, the pain cracking up his jawline and pressing in at his temples. The bright glow of the streetlights made his eyes narrow as he walked down the sidewalk.

He shoved his fists in his jean pockets, shoulders hunched as he made his way home for a quick shower and some food before he spent the night at work.

He didn't notice that he  _wasn't_ walking home until he found himself in front of Annie's place, the front porch lit up as she stood there with Bertolt.

_Bertolt?_

Annie murmured something—too low for him to catch—and he pressed against the dilapidated wooden fence to stay hidden, willing his heart to slow its vicious rhythm.

Why was Bertolt here?

Bertolt touched the back of his neck in agitation, nodding and pulling away from her. He walked down the steps slowly—then turned back. His throat worked as he spoke. "Annie…"

Annie had her small hands tucked into the front of her hoodie, her shoulders hunched against the cold. Her blue eyes watched Bertolt impassively. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry." Bertolt mumbled, cheekbones flushed. He looked as if he wanted to say something else but he shook his head instead. He turned, walking away—but Annie called out and he froze.

"Bertolt?"

He blinked, looking up at her again. "Yes?"

She looked away, shifting—almost—a little awkwardly. "Thanks. For…" She shrugged. "Caring. For talking to me." She looked disgruntled with herself, as if she hadn't wanted to say the words but had forced them out nonetheless.

Bertolt looked as stunned as Eren felt—but then he smiled, looking at her the way he had since they'd been a bunch of kids in high school. "You're welcome, Annie."

Bertolt walked away and towards him—forcing Eren to slip behind the trunk of a tree so he wouldn't be seen. His fingernails bit into the bark as he waited for Bertolt to turn around the corner, his heart beating so hard he could feel it in his skull.

He should leave.

Whatever was going on between Annie and Bertolt wasn't any of his concern. It didn't matter. It  _shouldn't_ matter.

He turned away, taking one step, another—and stopping, his teeth gritting. The week had been fucking awful, work had been busy enough as it is, now they were being audited, he'd cut it off with Annie, the dancing lessons had been pure fucking disaster—for god's sake he'd dropped Mikasa on her  _head_ —and now the sight of Bertolt and Annie had filled him up with something dark and bitter. He wanted to forget about it all and wanted to have a drink—but maybe…maybe he just wanted Annie.

Maybe he wanted to feel her small body pressed against his larger one, feel her soft blonde hair under his rough fingers and get her icy blue glare to melt the way he'd always had.

He swallowed, grabbing his phone and dialing Mikasa, cursing the shake in his hands. "Hey, Mikasa." He breathed out, leaning against the fence. "How do you feel?"

"Eren," She sounded a little relieved, making the guilt thicken. "I'm fine. Are you still at work?"

"Yeah." He could hear the rattle of cashiers and shopping carts in the background. Was she still out in town? "It's going to be a little crazy for a while so I'm going to spend the night at the office." He kicked at a pebble, watching it skid off the sidewalk and onto the street. "I have a really bad headache, though."

He felt like kicking himself as soon as the words were out.  _He_  had a really bad headache?  _He'd_ dropped  _her_  on her  _head._

She sounded worried nonetheless—but she was always worried for him. "I could take you some aspirin—"

"No." Eren said quickly. "No, it's fine. Thanks."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. I just wanted to let you know." He licked his lips. "Go straight home."

Another pause. "I am."

Eren exhaled. "Good night, Mikasa."

She breathed in slowly, the little sound of it against the phone speaker almost endearing. "Good night, Eren."

"I…" He faltered a little, his green eyes eyeing Annie's front door. "I love you."

And he meant it. He did. He loved Mikasa fiercely. They'd gone through hell and back together and he would never be complete without her. He couldn't imagine life without her just the way he couldn't imagine not having Armin. They were his family, too.

But he couldn't stay away from Annie.

He just  _couldn't._

There was a smile in her voice. "I love you, too, Eren."

He hung up slowly, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth as he walked up to her door. He lifted his fist to knock and hesitated. The times they'd usually met had been chaotic and haphazard, rushed and fierce and almost accidental—but this was infinitely different.

He was at her home now. This was him deliberately seeking her, asking her. There was no risk of being caught here—they'd have the privacy of a bedroom, time to think and stop before they touched one another.

Every other time had felt like a storm, the choice ripped out of their hands as they'd collided.

There was no storm now. The choice was there in his hands and he was making it and he'd be asking her to, too.

He lifted his fist, knocking twice. He held his breath.

_If she doesn't answer I'll leave. I won't persist. I shouldn't be here. This is wrong._

The door opened and his green eyes found her. Her blonde hair was disheveled and her blue eyes were slightly irritated—his gaze snagging on something pink at the corner of her lips. She was wearing a huge sweatshirt that looked more like a nightgown on her, the sleeves engulfing her small hands completely.

She lifted her fingertips to her mouth and wiped away the pink color—strawberry ice cream, Eren guessed—away. She'd devoured that stuff ravenously since he'd first known her. "What are you doing here?" She sounded as vexed as she looked, nothing like the way she'd spoken to Bertolt. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know. I know what I said but I'm not sure I meant it. I don't want to push you away or for you to push me away I don't want you to  _leave._ I was walking home and somehow I ended up here in front of your house and I—" He paused. "I can't." He moved as if strings tugged him towards her helplessly. "I can't stay away." His hands touched her small waist, finding her hips amidst the excess of fabric. "Can I stay?" He leaned down, brushing his mouth over her cheek. He knew she could feel him shaking. "Is it okay if I stay with you, Annie?"

She gave him a hard look and pulled away. "You're giving me whiplash." She shoved her hands into the front pocket of the sweatshirt again. "You said it was a mistake." Annie's body was rigid. "If you think I'm only doing this to get back at Mikasa why do you keep coming back, Eren?"

Eren bit the inside of his cheek. "It is. We shouldn't be doing this but—" He clenched his fists. "I can't keep away from you. I keep telling myself this is wrong—it's hurting her, hurting you. I tell myself you'll just end up hurting me again but— _what does it matter_?" He swallowed thickly. "What does all that other shit matter now that I have you here with me? Now that I finally have you back when I went without you for so long?" He wiped his damp palms on his jeans. "You can turn me away. As much as you hurt me you don't deserve this, either." He had to be brutally honest with himself, with her, couldn't sugar coat anything for the life of him. "Do you want me to go?" He clenched his jaw. "Or can I stay?"

Her eyes searched his for a long time. "You're an idiot, Eren." She swallowed, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like  _I'm an idiot—_ before dragging him towards her and lifting her mouth up to his in silent answer.

* * *

Eren was surprisingly forgetful.

He'd forgotten their anniversary, for one.

He'd also forgotten he was supposed to help her paint the apartment.

But—Mikasa reminded herself grimly, wiping her paint smeared fingers on her t shirt— Eren  _had_  been particularly attentive, lately.

He was busy and often didn't answer her calls or texts—but when he was beside her he was unusually affectionate and struggled to keep his temper in check where before he hadn't quite cared to filter it. He'd concentrated fiercely on the dance steps she and Levi so effortlessly moved through and the effort he'd given had moved her deeply.

He was trying and it was more than she could have asked for, despite Levi's ridicule.

Despite what she  _felt_  for Levi.

She shook off the thought, refusing to dwell on him or the way they'd kissed.

Again.

She hadn't been able to lie to Armin, nor had she wanted to. He'd only watched her quietly and to her surprise she'd told him everything, sparing herself nothing, telling him all she had done and had continued to do.

 _You need to talk to Eren, Mikasa_ was all Armin had told her, squeezing her hand.

In her restlessness she'd uncapped the two cans of paint she'd bought, taping and covering the counters and furniture meticulously, burying her unease with her work. It was soothing to say the least with her music crooning quietly in the background. The muscles in her arms and back began to burn pleasantly as she rolled the warm ocher color over her living room and kitchen walls. She'd opened the windows to let the night breeze sweep in, helping dissipate the suffocating scent of the paint—when a knock suddenly sounded on her door.

She blinked, breaking from her reverie. She put the roller down and tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling herself smear paint across her cheek. She cursed quietly and made her way to the door.

Was it Eren? He'd sounded so strained over the phone. Worry suddenly knotted her insides as she reached for the door—and paused briefly, eyeing her messy appearance in slight dismay.

She shook her head, dismissing her self-consciousness as she twisted the knob—it was Eren, after all—and came face to face with Levi instead.

His thin brows rose. "I see you're still alive." He cocked his head as he eyed her, taking in her disheveled appearance; paint stained oversized t-shirt, messily tied hair, stringy jean shorts, bare legs and all. He parted his lips—then snapped them shut, seeming to rethink his question. He cleared his throat. "You paint?"

"No." She gathered her composure, stemming the urge to pull down on her shorts. "I'm painting my living room."

His eyes slid past her, seeing the half painted walls. Realization touched his dark blue eyes and he gave a barely perceptible nod. "That's what Eren forgot." He murmured—more to himself. "Painting."

His eyes found hers again, lingering over the curve of her face, her dark hair—and she flushed a little. She must look filthy. "Was there something you needed?" Her eyes narrowed when she saw she'd smeared paint on the door knob too. "Or did you come just to say that?"

"I thought it'd be a good idea to make sure you were taking it easy—but you're not." He lifted his right hand, showing both Eren's dark jacket and her scarf dangling off a curled finger. "You two left this at the studio."

He held them out to her as his eyes continued examining the inside of her apartment. She took advantage of his inattention to survey him herself, realizing he was a bit more formal today than usual. The ice grey vest over his dark blue button up shirt was unbuttoned and hanging limply from his broad shoulders, slightly wrinkled, looking untucked. His sleeves were only half rolled up but even so the veins in his arms were visible. He had strong hands she knew, had felt them lift and twist her quickly and easily—but they could be gentle, too, careful as they slid into her hair, tracing her jaw and cradling her head.

She inhaled, dragging her eyes back up to his. "How did you know my address?"

Levi looked a little exasperated. "Did you forget all the paperwork you filled out?" He shoved the jacket and scarf towards her, urging her to take it. "You weren't answering my phone calls."

His calls? She looked behind her, remembering how she'd set her phone to charge in her bedroom as she'd painted, the music most likely having shrouded any ringing.

Had he been worried?

"Thank you." Mikasa reached for them but paused when she spotted paint still smeared on her fingers and wrist. "Let me wash my hands."

Levi eyed her form once again. "Please do."

She felt the corner of her lips twitch as she stepped away and into the kitchen, the rush of the water muffling the sound of the door shutting. She tried to remove all traces of paint from her hands and arms quickly. Levi followed behind her more slowly, draping the jacket and scarf on the back of a chair, his dark blue eyes surveying her small apartment critically.

She wondered if it met with his approval. "I swung by the studio a while ago." Mikasa lathered the soap up to her elbows. "It was closed."

Levi nodded. "I left early and Erwin never stays late." He grabbed a napkin from the counter, wiping at a splotch of paint on the floor. "You're lucky I caught that before it dried." He muttered.

She'd seen enough to know that he was quite particular when it came to cleanliness. She could remember the spotlessness of his home, his bedroom, the way he had to stop and drop everything if there was a spill in the studio, no trace of dust that escaped his sharp eyes.

While she did like to keep her things neat she doubted she was up to par—considering the mess of tape, plastic coverings and paint littering her place at the moment.

Before she could shut off the water she saw him reach forward, dipping a clean dishcloth into the stream. He pressed it to her cheek gently, wiping at the smear she'd forgotten.

"You're a mess." His voice was thicker than usual, his eyes a touch darker. "You're alone?"

She felt her pulse kick up at his proximity, his scent a strange mixture of soap and lemon wood polish. "Eren's working." She shut the water off and turned away.

Levi placed the dish towel onto the counter. "For how long?"

She walked into the living room, tugging at her hair band and shaking her hair loose. She scratched at her scalp gently—pressing her lips together tightly when she accidentally brushed the sore spot at the back of her head. "He's spending the night at work because he has a lot to do. Eren's a very hard worker." She sounded tight and wound up even to herself—knew she had no reason to defend Eren's absence.

He said nothing—only calmly removed his vest and folded it, rolling up his sleeves swiftly.

She went very still. "What are you doing?"

Levi undid the top three buttons of his shirt, exposing his throat and collarbones, walking towards the rollers and paint buckets. "This place is a fucking mess. Can't really stand it." He shook his head in disapproval. "You have another roller?"

She faltered. "Yes."

"Good." He muttered, lifting the freshly dipped roller to the wall. His strokes were even, measured and neat and her gaze focused on the way the muscles in his arms worked for a little too long. "Go get it. I have nothing better to do tonight, anyway."

She hesitated for a moment, recalling the thoughts that had pressed down on her chest on her drive home. She'd been set on talking to Eren—and she still was—but she'd also been set on cutting Levi out of her life. The thought had bothered her much more than she'd ever thought it would, bringing a question she hadn't wanted to dwell on; what did it matter if she never saw the man again?

He'd only criticized them from the beginning, demeaning them and pointed out flaw after flaw, insulted Eren countless times. He'd enjoyed flustering her, enjoyed making Eren feel inferior, enjoyed provoking her and making her pulse race when Eren wasn't looking.

He'd only picked her up when he'd found her kneeling on the sidewalk, treated her scrapes and given her a place to stay. He'd only kept quiet about how they'd first met, never threatened to tell anyone of what had happened though he could have. He'd only driven them to the hospital and stayed until she'd woken. He'd only been worried enough to come all this way to check on her, using Eren's jacket and her scarf as a flimsy pretext.

He bent forward, rolling the roller into the paint again, turning to look at her as his hair fell over his brow. His dark blue eyes scanned her. "What is it?"

She was sure after speaking with Eren seeing Levi again…wouldn't be wise. Perhaps she could have just tonight with him. Just for a while before she ended whatever kept blooming between them.

She looked away, shaking her head—and left to get the other rollers with a gentle smile gracing her lips.

* * *

Sasha hadn't  _planned_ on walking home that day. It hadn't been the best of days—she'd had to leave her car in the shop after it decided it didn't want to start, almost giving her entire check to the mechanic to have it ready by the end of the week. She couldn't even scrounge up a measly amount of change for the bus—or even lunch—and Mikasa or Connie hadn't answered the phone, and instead of waiting about she'd decided to have a long, long walk.

She'd just been passing their old neighborhood, eyeing the house where Annie used to live. She slowed down her pace, hands in her pockets, recalling the reserved girl who'd once been their friend—when the door opened, Eren slipping out onto the porch.

Sasha froze, her breath catching in her throat. Eren looked disheveled; his hair mussed every which way, his clothes slightly twisted. He didn't have a jacket and his mouth was red and slightly swollen and she  _knew_ even if she didn't want to.

Eren's green gaze lifted, catching hers, and they went wide with shock and horror as he realized that she really  _was_ standing there.

Before either of them could say a word the door opened again and Annie was there, holding Eren's wallet and cell phone, shoving them at him carelessly. At his lack of reaction she scowled and looked up, following his gaze—and spotted Sasha just on the sidewalk.

_Oh, no. Please, please, no._

"You guys…" Sasha shook her head, equal amounts of panic and disgust rising within her. This would break Mikasa, this would cut her wide open, and she wanted to unsee it, didn't want to know but she did,  _she did_ and Mikasa had to know. "Mikasa…"

"Sasha." Eren croaked, and Sasha's body finally moved, feet stumbling back.

"Eren…" She gritted her teeth. "Eren, how…?" Sasha turned her gaze to Annie. "And Annie?" Sasha struggled to speak past the thickness of her throat, shaking her head. "How could you?"

Annie's throat worked—but she looked away, staying silent.

Eren stumbled down the porch steps. "Sasha, wait." He reached out. "Please don't—"

Sasha shook her head fiercely, tripping forward and away. Mikasa needed to know, even if it would cut her up, even if Sasha desperately  _didn't_ want to tell her, she needed to tell her now before she could convince herself not to, before Eren or Annie could convince her, no matter how hard it'd be— _she needed to know_.

"Sasha,  _listen_ to me!" Eren ran towards her. "Sasha, wait!"

Sasha shot forward, running as quickly as she could, determined to reach Mikasa before Eren—or anything—could stop her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably riddled with mistakes, I'm incredibly sorry I just figured I'd update now before I lost the nerve.
> 
> I'll make any corrections when I get back home.
> 
> Since the next chapter is done it should be up fairly quickly but I've said that before, haven't I? Thank you for reading, and for encouraging me to continue this wreck of a fic. I hope you don't completely hate it.


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